


Back to black

by Nickygp



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After The Sign Of Three, Bittersweet Ending, Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, F/M, Heartbroken Sherlock, M/M, PTSD Sherlock, Slow Build, Viclock, Victor is good, a bit of mystrade ;), has nothing to do with his last vow, mary is a bit not good, really angsty, some smut, well more than a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:25:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 31,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1202785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nickygp/pseuds/Nickygp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the wedding Sherlock is heartbroken and alone; the last two years bringing him to the mercy of PTSD.<br/>John on the other hand is blissfully happy with his new wife... Will John realize in time that Sherlock needs him or will he lose his best friend, forever?</p><p>"Loving you was the most exquisite form of self destruction"-d.j</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me and my head high  
> And my tears dry  
> Get on without my guy  
> You went back to what you knew  
> So far removed from all that we went through  
> And I tread a troubled track  
> My odds are stacked  
> I'll go back to black  
> We only said goodbye with words  
> I died a hundred times  
> You go back to her  
> And I go back to.....  
> I go back to us  
> \- Amy whine house, Back to black

Deep breath, in and out. He takes his coat and walks out quickly. He needs air. He can't breathe.  
Deep breaths, deep breaths.... Hell, he can't _breathe_

Sherlock hails a cab and quickly gives him his address. He can feel a familiar need settle in his stomach. He is not sure what is happening to him. He feels like someone stabbed him repeatedly in the heart. Sherlock hates the feeling because he does not know how to deal with it and it frightens him.

He arrives at 221B and goes into his apartment; it is eerily quiet. He looks around and sees John's empty chair; his heart squeezes painfully at the image. He is not sure whether or not his heart is trying to give up on him. He feels bile rise and his eyes sting. He feels his world whirl and crumble all around him. He feels like crying. He feels like dying.

Sherlock bends over in pain as he gasps for breath. It takes him a few minutes to regain enough control to stand up straight. He feels something wet on his cheeks... Tears. He had not realized he he had started crying. Why was he crying? He was Sherlock Holmes; he did not cry unless a case demanded it.

He types his symptoms and what he was doing before they started, in google. The search results say that he is probably experiencing a heavy depression and painful heartbreak. But that doesn't make any sense. He is happy for John. He is happy that his best friend has found someone to love... _Oh._

Sherlock's heart gives a painful twist as he realizes the truth. Yes, he was happy, but that did not take away the fact that he felt completely devastated. For two years he had been dreaming of coming back to John, but John was no longer there for him. John was married and he was happy.

Sherlock had to let go of the one thing that had kept him alive for two years. He had fallen in love with the one man he could never have. The man that had saved him, that had accepted him for who he was. He had fallen in love with John Watson, and Sherlock had been in denial since his return. Because John Watson would never love him back. John was married for Christ's sake! John had always said 'not gay' and Sherlock had been stupid enough to fall for John anyway.

When he came back, Sherlock had expected to go back to living with John and solving crimes with him. But the playing field had changed and a new variable had entered the game. John no longer needed, and probably did not want, Sherlock around. Had he ever needed Sherlock in the first place?

John had always been strong and independent. But Sherlock... Sherlock had clung to John like one clings to air when drowning. He had been gone for two long, painful years. The memories too dark to revisit. John had helped him keep his sanity. Well, the memories Sherlock had of John and the voices he heard in his head

But Mary... Mary had helped John get over his death. John had been hurting and Mary had been John's balm. John have been able to move on and start a new happy, and dull, life. But Sherlock had not been able to do that. John was probably over his friendship with Sherlock while Sherlock was just coming back from two years of killing, and being tortured over and over, for John. He had not been given the time to Move on.

In fact, he was just finding out how much he loved John Watson. He had been so inexperienced in the art of love that he had not realized his love for John went beyond friendship until he had left. But none of that mattered anymore; John was happy with Mary. He did not have time for Sherlock, and his eccentricities. So Sherlock was alone.... _again._  
Tears fell down with renewed vigor at this realization. When had he started caring whether or not he was alone?

 _Now it is only you and me Sherlock_ said a singsongy voice

"No" whispered Sherlock "not now"

_Haven't you missed me? Oh baby, I've certainly missed you_

"Stop, get out. You. Are. Dead"

 _Oh, but that doesn't mean I'm gone_ Sherlock felt as if someone was patting the back of his neck _I'm always here with you even when John is gone!_

"STOP" screamed Sherlock as he fell to the floor, hands clutching his dark curls "you are just in my head. You are not real"

 _You are wrong Sherlock_ said the mocking voice _because in your head I am real. More real, in fact, than John's love for you_ Sherlock saw Moriarty casually walk towards him and he began to shiver

 _He never did care for you, you know. Such as shame... He replaced you with a pretty wife and now you are alone_ said Moriarty with a chuckle _In the end, I did win the game_

Sherlock threw a cup that had been sitting on the coffee table at Moriarty. Of course, given that he was not really there, the cup hit the wall. It shattered immediately, leaving a trail of cold tea on the wall.

Sherlocks stood up slowly as he made his way to where the cup had been shattered. He started picking up the pieces until a sharp pain stopped him. Blood started trickling down his hand to the floor. He stood up and touch the wall, leaving a trail of bright red blood. It looked sinister. It reminded him of his time in Serbia. He tried to shake the memories away, but they wouldn't leave him alone.

For some unexplainable reason, the sharp pain had helped Sherlock focus. However, that familiar need that had assaulted him in the car was coming back, stronger than before. He knew what he wanted, what he _needed_. He wanted this pain to stop. He wanted to stop thinking even if just for a little while. He needed Moriarty to stop appearing when Sherlock was at his lowest.

 _Well, you know what you need, don't you?_ Said Moriarty

Sherlock did not even try to fight him anymore. He went to his room, and took out a wooden box from under one of the floorboards. He hadn't used drugs since meeting John, but he had always kept some with him, in case of an emergency. This had to count as an emergency and, even if it did not, Sherlock was past the point of caring.

 _Yes be a bad boy with me_ said Moriarty with a flirtatious smile _John replaced you with Mary. Well, you can replace him with drugs and with me..._

It is a very poor replacement Sherlock thought. But, he couldn't deal with his life and his memories right now. He needed to stop feeling, to stop thinking, to stop _remembering._

He shot up as quickly as his trembling hands allowed him to. After a few minutes, he felt his body relax and his mind go numb and Oh... He could breathe again


	2. Chapter 2

After who knows how many hours of blissful nothingness, the bitter pain of reality started to creep back in. Sherlock looked around the empty flat and found that he felt like a stranger in his own home. Gone were the days when the flat was filled with warmth, sound, and movement. Gone were the days when he could talk for days on end knowing that somebody was listening, knowing that somebody cared. Gone were the days when he could close his eyes and not find  disturbing torture sequences waiting for him.  
  
Sherlock screwed his eyes shut as waves of sorrow hit him. John was gone and he wasn't coming back. Sherlock couldn't deal with it, at least, not yet. He flopped down on the couch and extended his arm, silently searching for his liberator.  
  
This time around, his hands were steady and quick. This time around he did not think about what John would say.  
  
That is, until he came off the high.  
  
Shame and nausea where the two things Sherlock felt as he woke up, hours later. He felt his head throbbing and his body hurting. He knew he should not have done it, but he had needed it. He still needed it. He distractedly checked his phone trying to ignore his body's craving. He regretted checking it almost immediately.  
  
 _Hey, Molly told me she couldn't find you last night. Did you sneak out? I never saw you leave. Anyway, I'm off with Mary. See you soon- JW_  
  
John had not even noticed Sherlock had left. Of course, Sherlock already knew this, but to hear it from John made it harder to bear. He was officially disposable and unimportant, and it hurt like hell.  
  
 _Told you Johnny boy didn't care for you_ said Moriarty in his singsongy voice _You can't blame him, though. I mean, apart from me, who can put up with you?_  
  
"Will you just shut up!" Growled Sherlock  
  
 _Make me. C'mon you know you want it_ whispered Moriarty in Sherlock's ear, as he suddenly appeared next to Sherlock.  
  
Sherlock couldn't argue with that. He did want it. He did need it. Sherlock took the syringe in his hand, once again, but stopped just as he was about to inject it into the vein. John would not like this... But he wasn't _here_. Why did it matter if John approved or not?  
  
No, he had to stop. He bolted out of the room, taking his coat, as he ran away from Moriarty and himself. He took a cab, and gave the cabbie an address Sherlock thought he would never have to use in case of an emergency. He questioned his choice all the way there but, deep down, he knew that it was the only way.  
  
He paid the cabbie hurriedly, and made his way to the house. He rang the bell, cursing silently at his slightly trembling hands that would not allow him to pick the lock.  
  
"Sherlock" said a not so surprised Mycroft Holmes  
  
"May I come in, brother?" Said Sherlock, his usual spite gone.  
  
"Of course" said Mycroft, immediately sensing that something was wrong with Sherlock.  
  
\------------------------------------------------  
  
They were sitting in the living room. Sherlock was stiff, drink in hand. Mycroft knew his brother well enough to see that Sherlock was very much _not_ fine, and it scared him.  
  
"What happened Sherlock?"  
  
"Nothing happened. Why do you immediately assume something is wrong?"  
  
"Because you wouldn't be here, willingly, if everything was fine" Mycroft took a moment to observe his brother. It was far too early to be drinking, and Sherlock seemed... jumpy  
  
"What did you take?" Mycroft said with a scowl  
  
"Noth-"  
  
"What. Did. You. Take?" Growled Mycroft, his eyes dangerous  
  
"It doesn't matter-"  
  
"It doesn't-"  
  
"No it doesn't! I am here, am I not? Why do you think I would come here, right after getting high, if I didn't want to stop?" Said Sherlock sharply  
  
"Why did you do it?" Said Mycroft. Sherlock refused to look at Mycroft, and Mycroft sighed "sentiment... I did warn you _not_ to get involved"  
  
"Oh, save your lectures for someone who gives a damn, Mycroft" said Sherlock as he stood up. He needed to get away from his brother "don't you think I know? I was stupid, but there is nothing I can do now"  
  
Mycroft felt his heart tremble at the sight. Sherlock looked so crestfallen, so... broken. Mycroft knew this was not only about John. The past two years had taken a toll on Sherlock, and now he had nobody to take care of him.  
  
"I take it the wedding didn't go well?" Said Mycroft softly  
  
"I did what I was supposed to do, and then I left. He did not even realize I was gone. Molly had to point it out" said Sherlock bitterly  
  
Mycroft looked at his brother and gasped when he realized the truth. He had assumed Sherlock was sad due to the fact that he had, in many ways, lost his best friend. He had not realized Sherlock was _in love_ with John. It was obvious yet Mycroft, much like Sherlock, did not have the emotional knowledge to realize without a push.  
  
"Oh, Sherlock..." Said Mycroft with sad eyes  
  
"I don't want your pity, Mycroft" said Sherlock coldly. They sat in silence for a long time.  
  
"Tell me, how can I help?" Said Mycroft "perhaps a case?"  
  
At that moment, Sherlock's phone ringed. It was Lestrade. " it seems I am in luck" said Sherlock as he took out his phone " I will talk to you soon, Mycroft. Thank you, for the drink"  
  
Mycroft nodded, and waited for Sherlock to leave the room before taking his phone out.  
  
"Good morning, sir" said Anthea  
  
" Good Morning, dear. I need a team sent to Baker Street. Search absolutely everything. If you find any drugs, get rid of them, and bring me the DI"  
  
"Of course, sir. Should I bring him to your house?"  
  
"No, bring him to the office. I will be there soon"


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft walked into his office to find an angry DI pacing inside.  
  
"Good morning Detective Inspector" said Mycroft pleasantly  
  
"Why was I brought here,and, who are you?"  
  
"You are here because I needed to talk to you about Sherlock"  
  
"What do you want with Sherlock?" Said the Inspector, suddenly defensive "I could have you arrested, you know?"  
  
Mycroft smiled, amused "I am afraid you can't. However, I can assure you I am no threat. I am... worried about him"  
  
"Worried? Wait, you still haven't told me who you are"  
  
"I'm his... Brother"  
  
"Wait, you are Mycroft?" Said the inspector, clearly surprised. Mycroft did not respond, merely raised a brow. "Well, John has told me about you. He was right, you know"  
  
"Right?"  
  
"You're not scary at all" said Lestrade with a smile  
  
"That is because I am not _trying_ , at the moment" said Mycroft with a dismissive hand "that is, however, not the matter at hand. As I said, I am concerned about Sherlock"  
  
"Why?"  
  
Mycroft looked at Lestrade long and hard "before I answer that question, you should know that anything I might tell you today cannot leave this room" Lestrade nodded, sensing the gravity of the situation  
  
"Am I right to assume you are one of Sherlock's friends, and that you care for his well-being?" Said Mycroft seriously  
  
"Of course I care for him" Mycroft nodded and motioned Lestrade to sit  
  
"Sherlock is not well, neither emotionally nor mentally. His two years away were psychologically devastating, and he's now dealing with two particular feelings that are killing him emotionally: love and heartbreak"  
  
"Heartbreak?"  
  
"Yes, Inspector. Our dear detective got too involved, and is now paying the price" said Mycroft sadly  
  
"But who... _oh_ " Lestrade looked at Mycroft, hoping that he would prove him wrong, but Mycroft said nothing.  
  
"Even though he is not quite stable mentally, he doesn't want professional help. I am afraid that, with the emotional roller coaster, it will be too much for him to handle. It is already too much..."  
  
"We need to search his flat. He could fall-"

  
"He already did" said Mycroft with a sombre look on his face  
  
"You mean he-"  
  
"Relapsed last night, yes. I already have a team searching for drugs"  
  
Lestrade rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly quite exhausted and stressed "how can I help? Should I call John-"  
  
"No" snapped Mycroft "that is a choice for Sherlock to make. Besides, he has done enough damage as it-"  
  
" this is not John's fault"  
  
"Oh, but it is. Sherlock left two years ago in order to protect John. Yes, he was also protecting his landlady and you, but his priority was always John. You have no idea what he went through during those years" said Mycroft coldly. He then proceeded to take out some pictures, and tossed them to Lestrade.  
  
The pictures showed a ravaged man tied, both arms and legs, with chains to a wall. There was blood everywhere; Lestrade wasn't sure if so much blood could be shed by one single person. The man had been hit so many times, Lestrade couldn't recognize the face. Of course, he knew it was Sherlock, otherwise Mycroft wouldn't have given these pictures to him. The pictures just kept getting worse and worse. Lestrade was not even halfway through the pile of pictures, when he felt his stomach churl and bile rise.  
  
"I can't keep looking at these" said Lestrade, giving the pictures back to Mycroft with trembling hands.  
  
"He was still healing when John attacked him on their little reunion" said Mycroft, a flash of fury crossing through his eyes.  
  
That is when Lestrade realized that Mycroft may seem calm and collected but, if you hurt his brother, you would have _hell_ to pay. This was not a man to be trifled with.  
  
"He has also been oblivious to Sherlock's instability"  
  
"Well you can't blame him for-"  
  
"I am not blaming him, but I expected more from him. He is supposed to be Sherlock's best friend, is he not? Yet, so far, he believes everything is perfectly fine. He did not even realize Sherlock left early last night"  
  
"Oh, come on. It was his wed-"  
  
"That is no excuse. He should have realized there was something wrong with Sherlock weeks ago. Even that young woman, Molly Hooper, noticed something was wrong"  
  
"How do you know that?"

  
"She contacted me, as did Mrs. Hudson. If John Watson had actually cared, he would have realized"  
  
Lestrade couldn't refute this. Heck, even he had noticed there was something wrong with Sherlock since his return. Lestrade knew that John cared but, even he had to admit, John had been a shit friend for the last couple of weeks... And he hadn't even been married yet. If it was true and Sherlock was in love with John....  
  
"What do you need me to do?"  
  
"Keep a constant eye on him. If possible, keep him busy. I would personally give him cases, but I doubt he would take them"  
  
"I'll do my best"  
  
"Thank you, Inspector" said Mycroft offering his hand " and I'm sorry for your divorce. However, you may find it to be a small blessing. She was more trouble than than what is worth"  
  
"How did you... No, never mind. I should have known that you were just as smart as Sherlock"  
  
"Oh, I'm not" said Mycroft with a small smile " I am smarter"  
\-------------------------------------------  
Lestrade was not there when Sherlock arrived. Sherlock, of course, just went ahead to check the body.  
  
"You took your time" said Sherlock,a s he heard Lestrade walk into the room  
  
"Yeah, sorry about that... Anyway, have you got any leads?"  
  
"Not yet. Where were you?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Lestrade, don't make me repeat myselft"  
  
"Grumpy today, are we?"  
  
"You are avoiding the question"  
  
"That's because it is none of your business. Besides, we have a case to solve"  
  
Sherlock did not respond. He knew that, this time, it was useless to push it, especially if his suspicions were correct.


	4. Chapter 4

It took Sherlock a day and a half to solve the case. It had not even been a hard case (barely a four), but his mind kept getting distracted. It always kept coming back to John ; to his laughter, his voice, his eyes...  
  
Unfortunately, his mind also wandered into more painful territories. He remembered John's wedding, and how happy John had been. He imagined John and Mary on their honeymoon kissing, and touching, and-  
  
 _No._  That was a dangerous ground to tread on. He was not sure how much more his broken heart could take, before it shattered into a million pieces.  
  
Lestrade was trying to help as much as possible. He tried to keep Sherlock's mind off things by giving him almost daily cases. Some were just too easy, but Sherlock took them anyway. He needed the distraction. Sherlock had been neglecting himself for a bit more than a week now. He hadn't  been eating, or drinking, anything. He didn't remember sleeping either.  
  
Sherlock's stomach grumbled loudly. He couldn't remember the last time he ate. But, honestly, he did not care anymore. He was just tired.... So very tired....  
\----------------------------------------------  
  
Mrs. Hudson got home very late that night. She had been at her sister's, given that she had not seen her in months. The flat upstairs was quiet as a tomb. Ever since the wedding, Sherlock had been in a most depressing mood. He had been refusing to eat or sleep. The music Sherlock had been playing lately was sad enough to bring Mrs. Hudson to tears every time. She was honestly starting to fear what he might do next.  
  
After an hour of eerily silence, she went to check on Sherlock as fear gripped her. Sherlock was never _this_ quiet.  
  
"Sherlock!" She screamed when she saw the man limp, lying on the floor. She ran downstairs as quickly as her legs allowed her, and immediately called Mycroft.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Mr. Holmes, it's Sherlock... H-he is not moving"  
  
"What?" Said Mycroft, panic gripping his voice "get me an ambulance for 221B!" He barked at someone on his side of the line "thank you Mrs. Hudson, I'll be there in ten minutes"  
  
Mycroft, true to his word, arrived ten minutes later with a mass of police cars and an ambulance. They had just brought Sherlock down, when Lestrade arrived. Mycroft didn't notice him, given that he would not leave his brother's side.  
  
"What happened" asked Lestrade to Mrs. Hudson  
  
"I don't... I-I don't know" said Mrs. Hudson as tears freely rand down her face "I called Mycroft... Oh, look at him over there. He looks so s-sad"  
  
Lestrade looked at Mycroft and was surprised by what he saw. John had always told him that Mycroft was an arse, as cold and logical as Sherlock. But, right now, Mycroft looked absolutely... Human. His face showed grief-stricken fear. His shoulders were tense and his walk was stiff. He looked like a man that had not had a single day of rest in his life.  
  
"I should go with them" said Lestrade, running to his car. He felt his heart pumping hard. What had happened to Sherlock? He looked like he was... Was this all because of John? God, he was not sure if he wanted to know  
\-------------------------------------------  
  
Let him live. Let him live. Let him live. Let him live.  
  
 _"Mycroft look at me. I am captain Redbeard!" Sherlock said, his lovely laughter traveling trhough the air_ _. His dark, curly hair was ruffled by the wind, and the sun.. oh the sun made Sherlock's smile shine brighter than what should be humanly possible. His big, intelligent blue-grey eyes were pure and innocent, still unaware of the evils of the world._  
   
 _He was almost six years old, and he was absolutely wild. He loved to play make-believe; he always chose to be a pirate. Mycroft pleased him, from time to time, and joined him in his adventures. This time, however, Sherlock had decided to play Pirate on the pool's platform._  
  
 _"Sherlock be careful! You are going to fall from that platform" said a worried Mycroft_  
  
 _"I am fine" said Sherlock. He motioned excitedly with his arms, as if he was wielding a sword, and that is when he fell, deep into the pool._  
  
 _"Sherlock" screamed Mycroft as he jumped into the water to get his brother out. Sherlock still hadn't learned how to swim, and Mycroft felt his stomach lurch with fear at the thought of his little brother drowning. Fortunately, he had managed to get the kid out of the pool alive. He had looked so pale and frail in his arms._  
  
That was the day Mycroft Holmes made a vow to himself; he would never again let _anything_ happen to Sherlock. He had not been able to fulfill that vow but, heavens help him, he had tried.  
  
 _Oh God, please, let him be okay_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I know it's a short chapter, but don't worry. I promise chapter 6 is going to be much longer :)  
> hope you like it!


	5. Chapter 5

Mycroft was pacing from one corner of the room to the other. His motions were swift and silent; the only sound that could be heard was the swish of his umbrella.People may believe Mycroft to be a cold bastard, but he cared deeply about his brother. In fact, it was probably the only person he truly cared about. It was the one loss he couldn't- wouldn't- bear.  
  
"Mr. Holmes?" Said a nurse dressed in a white and blue dress. She was quickly walking towards Mycroft. "Are you Sherlock Holmes' brother?"  
  
"Yes" said Mycroft stopping in his tracks "is he alright? What happened to him?"  
  
"His body started to shut down due to stress, dehydration, and lack of nutrition. Was he under any kind of depression? Do you know when was the last time he ate?"  
  
"No, I don't know. I don't live with him, but he has never been very good at taking care of himself. I would imagine that he might have eaten something... A week ago" said Mycroft with a bit of shame. The nurse looked appalled.  
  
"His body is not in a healthy condition, sir. The state of malnutrition is severe, and he has several jarring  scars on his body.... I am sorry for meddling sir but... Isn't there someone to stay with him? I don't know if he has had any medical treat-"  
  
"Indeed, it is not your place to meddle" said Mycroft in a silky tone "you needn't worry. I am taking him home with me"  
  
She blushed and nodded quickly. She could feel power emanating from him. There was something about this man that made her feel threatened and relaxed at the same time; it wasn't a pleasant feeling. She gave Mycroft the room number, and fled from the man's presence at the first chance.  
  
Mycroft quietly entered the room. Sherlock was awake, but he seemed to be very weary.  
  
"Hello, brother mine" said Mycroft with a forced smile  
  
"What are you doing here, Mycroft?" Said Sherlock. His voice sounded hoarse  
  
"I am here to take care of you, since you seem to be unable to do that. When was the last time you ate Sherlock?"  
  
Sherlock scowled "does it matter?"  
  
"Yes, Sherlock. It matters" said Mycroft icily "I understand that you are emotionally strained right now, but that is no-"  
  
"Oh, bugger off Mycroft" it was Mycroft's turn to scowl  
  
"Look, Sherlock, I am worried about you"  
  
"Worried? Why would you be worried about me?"  
  
"Because I bloody care about you!" Mycroft said, nearly screaming. He breathed in; he had to get a grip on his emotions. "Once you are released, you are coming home with me"  
  
"Home as in... your house?" Said a bewildered Sherlock  
  
"Somebody has to make sure you don't die" said Mycroft with a glance that clearly said I'm-not-taking-any-bullshit-today  
  
"I am fine Mycroft, honestly brother-"  
  
"Sherlock _don't_ " said Mycroft " just don't.  You know it doesn't work with me. I know you too well, brother mine"  
  
Sherlock looked away. Usually, he would have put up an actual fight, but he did not want to. If he was being honest with himself, he was rather relieved he was going to Mycroft's. The silence of his flat only intensified the voices in his head. Sometimes it was Moriarty, sometimes it was John. There were two John's; one was sweet and loving, the other was cold and would hurt, or mock, Sherlock at every chance. The first had been his comfort, and companion, during the worst part of his two years away. The latter had developed with his return. He hated this new John. He was spiteful, and every word that came out of his mouth would cut through Sherlock like a sharp blade.  
  
The flat also reminded him of John and all that they had done, and of how lonely he was now. It was a constant reminder that John had chosen Mary over him. Yes, he knew he never had a chance with John but, for two years, he had allowed himself to dream. It had been his way of dealing with the pain. A way, it seemed, that was causing more harm than good.  
  
"You have to let go and move on, Sherlock" said Mycroft softly. Sherlock, again, looked away "I am sorry brother mine. Believe me, if there was anything I could do to help you, I would do it in a  heartbeat"  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I am not as coldhearted as you assume, Sherlock"  
  
Sherlock nodded, closing his eyes. He had become closer with his brother since the "fall". For two years, Mycroft had been the only real thing he had had. He had helped Sherlock every time he got captured or was being tortured. Perhaps it was for the best to stay with his brother. Mycroft was the only one that fully knew what had happened with Sherlock during his absence. And it seemed that Mycroft was the only one left to care whether Sherlock lived or died. Well, it seemed things were going back to the way they had been, before John arrived. Perhaps it was time Sherlock went back to his old uncaring self too.  
\-----------------------------------------------------  
  
Mycroft left Sherlock to rest. Sherlock had given him the ok to pack his belongings from Baker Street. Sherlock had said he did not plan on going back, but Mycroft knew better. He had called Mrs. Hudson and explained that he would now be paying the rent, even if Sherlock wasn't there, at least for a while in case Sherlock wanted to go back.  
  
"How's Sherlock?" Said Lestrade as he made his way towards Mycroft  
  
"Inspector, what are you doing here?" Said a rather surprised Mycroft  
  
"Sherlock's my friend, remember? Oh, I also let Molly know. She said she would be here soon"  
  
Mycroft nodded" his body shut down due to dehydration and a lack of nutrition"  
  
"Oh god... Of course he hasn't been eating. Only he would let his body rot like that" said Lestrade, his hands two tight fists.  
  
"Indeed... Well, he is doing better now."  
  
Lestrade looked at Mycroft. The man still seemed incredibly stressed and pained. Lestrade was not sure if he was imagining it, but what he saw in front of him was a lonely man, who was worried sick about his brother.  
  
"Would you like to grab a pint?"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Well, you know..." Said Lestrade, who was quickly becoming flustered "you look like you could use a drink. Besides, Molly is coming to check on Sherlock, so you don't have to worry. Look there she is" said Lestrade who pointed at Molly.  
  
He then proceeded to walk towards her, and explained the situation to her. She seemed to be irate. She quickly left to find Sherlock, leaving Mycroft and the Inspector, once again, alone.  
  
"Sherlock's in trouble now" said Lestrade with a smile. Mycroft gave him a quizzical look "Molly might take a lot of crap from Sherlock, but she is not fond of him hurting himself. He's going to get seriously scolded" explained Lestrade "anyway are you up for that pint?"  
  
"I... Suppose so" said Mycroft, unsure as to why Lestrade wanted to have drinks with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you all might have realized, next chapter will bring a tiny bit of Mystrade :).


	6. Chapter 6

They went to the nearest pub, in case something happened with Sherlock. The place was packed, and dimly lit. The tables were small, thus people were sitting exceedingly close to one another.  They managed to land a table, and Mycroft went to get them drinks.  
  
Lestrade had started second-guessing his idea the minute they stepped out of the hospital. He felt like a nervous train-wreck right now because, What was he supposed to say to bloody Mycroft Holmes? He had met the guy once, and he seemed to be very much like Sherlock. His elegant flair did not help his case.  
  
Mycroft returned with two drinks in hand. Oh god, was he supposed to chat with him? Would Mycroft even deign to answer?  
  
"So..." Crap, _now_  what? It took Lestrade a few seconds to think of something "What do you do for a living?" Wow, what an intelligent question  
  
Mycroft stared at him for a few seconds with a small, polite, smile. He was not sure why this man was being so...friendly. Mycroft was not used to this. He was used to polite talk with diplomats, which mostly consisted of trying to get information without the other party noticing. But, this man seemed to be genuinely curious.  
  
"I work for the government"  
  
"Cool, what branch?"  
  
"A little bit of all of them" said Mycroft with a false smile  
  
"Something tells me it's quite more than a bit" said Lestrade, who had noticed the amount of security outside of Mycroft's office.  
  
"Yes... Sherlock likes to describe me as the British Government"  
  
Lestrade looked at Mycroft and realized that, although Mycroft had tried to downplay it, Sherlock's words held more truth than intended. He was probably having a drink with the most powerful man in England. And, bloody hell, even he had to admit that that was _hot_.  
  
Lestrade mentally slapped himself at the thought. This was his hospitalized friend's _brother_. He had invited Mycroft to try to comfort him... Right?  
  
"Are you alright, Inspector?"  
  
"Yes, sorry. Sherlock left me a bit worried" lied Lestrade  
  
"Of course, I understand. Heaven knows how many sleepless nights I've had because of my brother's foolishness"  
  
"You really care for him, don't you?"  
  
"He is my younger brother. It is my job to protect him, and I have not been doing my job properly" Mycroft's eyes betrayed his calm looking body.  
  
His eyes were two orbs of anger and worry. Lestrade couldn't help himself when he reached out and grasped Mycroft's arm. He felt like giving the man a hug, but that would probably creep Mycroft out, so he settled for a comforting touch.  
  
"I'm sorry, mate"  
  
To say Mycroft was surprised was an understatement. He did not remember ever being comforted as an adult. He had thought he was hiding his emotions well, but this man had been able to see right through him. What an interesting fellow. He was trying to comfort Mycroft, even if Lestrade did not know him. He was doing it just for the sake of _helping_ him.  
  
This was very new to Mycroft; to just do something, without expecting to gain anything in return. In his world, this did not happen. In his world every word, every touch, every action, was carefully planned and executed to gain, or destroy, something.  
  
Mycroft was not sure what to say. He was brilliant at playing politics, or deductions, but human interactions just for the sake of them... It was not really his forte.  
  
"Thank you, Inspector" said Mycroft a bit stiffly  
  
Thankfully, Lestrade's phone ringed, saving both men from what would have been a rather awkward moment.  
  
"It's the office. They found a body"  
  
"Please, don't feel obliged to stay, Inspector. If you have worked to do, please do go and attend to it"  
  
"But I feel like a jerk right now. I offered to take you-"  
  
"Honestly Inspector, I am fine. I, for one, understand that one must go when duty calls"  
  
"alright, text me if something happens with Sherlock. I'll make up for it, though. How about a pint tomorrow night?"  
  
Mycroft didn't know what to say. He had most definitely not been expecting the question "um... Of course, if it makes you feel better"  
  
"I'll meet you here around eight thirty?" Mycroft only nodded, letting the DI run off.  
  
Lestrade didn't know what had gotten into him. Had he just asked Mycroft out? Well, in his defense, he was ditching the man tonight. It was only fair to make it up to him. Besides, if he was being honest, Mycroft intrigued him greatly. He wanted to know what was beneath that mask of his.  
  
Mycroft stayed, swirling the drink in his hand. What an interesting man, and good looking too... Mycroft's cold, logical, side snapped back into action at that, and immediately stopped the train of thought. He would not delve into _sentiment_. It was dangerous and unnecessary. Sherlock had given him more than enough proof. Sherlock had gone too far, had gotten too involved, and look  at what it had done to him. No, Mycroft could do without the pain. Sherlock was enough of a headache.


	7. Chapter 7

John felt blissfully happy as he watched his wife sunbathe. They were at a beautiful beach in the  coast of Italy. The people were very friendly and the weather was deliciously warm. The houses were old,yet quaint, and the hotel they were staying at was quite luxurious.  They had been in Italy for two weeks now. They still had one more week left of their honeymoon, and John could not have been happier. There was only one thing nagging him at the back of his head: _Sherlock_.  
  
John had texted him before leaving for Italy, but Sherlock had not answered. Mary had told him that Sherlock was probably working on a case, and that he was fine. John knew how excited Sherlock could get with a case, so he had latched on to that idea. But, he had done so mostly because, right now, he just did not want to think that Sherlock might _not_ be okay.    
  
"You alright love?" Said Mary, shaking John from his musings  
  
"Yes, of course. I'm fine" said John as he gave her a small kiss. He did not want to worry Mary. Sherlock was _fine_.  
  
"If you are worried, you can just text him you know" of course Mary knew what was troubling him. She knew him too well, thus she was able to read him like an open book.  
  
"Yeah, I just might"  
  
He did. He texted Sherlock that evening, unable to wait for another week.  
  
 _Hey. You didn't answer my text. You alright?- JW_  
  
John waited a few minutes for an answer; the minutes turned into hours and, in the end, no answer came.  
  
"Did he answer?" asked Mary later that night, who had noticed John's furrowed brow  
  
"No... I'm starting to get worried"  
  
"He is probably fine, love. You know how he is. He can't be bothered to answer a text" said Mary with a small smile "We can check on him once we get back home" she started massaging her husband's shoulders and leaving a trail of pecks on his neck " but, for now... Come back to bed"  
  
John finally gave in, and pushed any thoughts about Sherlock to the back of his mind. He was on his honeymoon for God's sake! He was allowed to not worry about his friend for a few weeks. He was married now, and he had a wife to care for. So what if he indulged himself with his wife? Sherlock would be fine or, at least, that is what John kept telling himself.  
\---------------------------------------------------  
  
Sherlock was out of the hospital the next day. He was sure Mycroft had had a hand in that, but he was quite relieved to be out. Thankfully, he had not made a fuss about going to Mycroft's. He was sure it was either his brother's house or the hospital, and he'd be dammed if he had to stay one more minute in that blasted place.  
  
Mycroft had everything ready for him; he had moved all of Sherlock's belongings into his room. Microft's house was massive, and had many guest rooms; however, Sherlock had always had his own room in that house, even if he did not visit.  
  
Mycroft, knowing his brother's weakness, had also set up a pseudo lab in another room in which Sherlock could experiment to his heart's content.  
  
"As long as you don't burn the house, or the room, down, I don't mind you experimenting" said Mycroft. He usually _would_   have minded, but he knew his brother was very much in need of a distraction. Sherlock knew it too.  
  
"Thank you, Mycroft" said Sherlock quietly. Mycroft nodded and left, giving Sherlock some much needed space.  
  
Sherlock looked around the unfamiliar room, and felt a pang of pain and nostalgia. He missed Baker Street. He missed solving cases with John... Oh god, John. John, _his John_... But John had never been his. Sherlock felt bile rise to his throat, and he was forced to support himself on the wall. These idiotic outbursts of sentimentality had to stop. John deserved to be happy. Sherlock had done him much wrong. He didn't deserve John; he never had. Of course, that didn't stop him from hurting, from _wanting_.  
  
Curse his all too human body. He had always known caring was not an advantage. But, of course, his stubborn heart did not seem to get that. What good had it done him to let John in? He had given John his heart and John, unconsciously, had ripped it apart. How was he supposed to mend it? He, that knew nothing about love. He that knew not when he had given too much, or when to stop giving. He that knew not how to forget, how to forgive. He that had run from emotions for as long as he could remember. How the hell was he supposed to move on?  
  
Sherlock could not quite understand everything that he was feeling towards John at the moment; there was love, hate, lust, anger, jealousy. All forming one big, revolting, clutter of emotions that left Sherlock breathless and confused. The range was so wide, Sherlock wasn't sure if he was imagining things. He had never felt this many things at the same time. How did people manage to go on with their lives when their minds were in constant warfare with their hearts?  
  
 _You are being stupid, Sherlock_  
  
"John" whispered Sherlock as he brusquely turned around, hoping to see his friend. There he was; he looked younger, healthier... _Happier_.  
  
 _You need to let go Sherlock. You are just going to be a nuisance for me and my wife. Don't you think it is best if we part ways now?_  
  
"John" repeated Sherlock, stumbling forward, as he tried to grasp the man's hand. He grasped nothing but the thick, cold, night air.  
  
 _Honestly, isn't it just easier not to feel?_ Said Moriarty  
  
Sherlock whirled around in place to find Moriarty sitting on his bed  
  
"What are you doing here?" Said Sherlock  
  
 _You keep asking the same dumb questions. Honestly Sherlock, I think that this heartbreak crap is getting to your brain_ he ended on a singsongy tone. Honestly, this man was getting to Sherlock's nerves.  
  
"Leave me and let me BE!" Growled Sherlock  
  
"Sherlock is everything alright?" Said Mycroft who was standing at the door. His eyes scanning both the room and Sherlock with a worried gaze.  
  
Sherlock stood rooted to the spot. How was he supposed to explain this to Mycroft? He would probably overreact and try to send Sherlock to therapy, or some idiotic thing like that.  
  
"I'm fine, Mycroft"  
  
"You were talking to somebody" said Mycroft entering the room and closing the door behind him.  
  
"I do believe you are hearing things, Mycroft" said Sherlock dismissively   
  
"Oh, I think I'm not the one that has that problem, brother mine" said Mycroft moving closer "When did it start?"  
  
Sherlock had forgotten how quick, and precise, Mycroft's deductions could be. Damn his brother. Why did he always have to intervene? "When did what start, Mycroft?"  
  
"Sherlock, don't play games with me. You are clearly going through Post traumatic stress disorder"  
  
"There is nothing wrong with me!"  
  
"Then, pray tell, why are you hearing voices?" said Mycroft in the same tome he used to use when Sherlock was a child  
  
"I'm not-"  
  
" _Sherlock_ "  
  
"I'll be _fine_. There is no need to worry about me. Why did you come in here anyway?"  
  
"John texted you. I would not have told you, but I figured you might wish to answer"  
  
Sherlock stood stock still "what did it say?"  
  
"He was wondering why you hadn't answered his last text. Would you like me to answer it for you?"  
  
Sherlock felt a knot forming in his throat as he said "Delete it"  
  
Mycroft put a tentative hand on his brother's shoulder, giving it a comforting grasp. "Our parents are coming to visit" said Mycroft, aware that the news would not be welcomed.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"They heard you were in the hospital. I managed to convince them to come next week and not today."  
  
"Dammit Mycroft, can't I entrust you with anything? Don't let them come!"  
  
"I'm afraid I can't do that. But, who knows, maybe they will have something useful to say about this whole ordeal. Anyway, as they say, I'm going out tonight"  
  
" _What?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I haven't given John's POV up until now. In the fic, from chapter six up until now, it's been two weeks since the wedding. Each chapter occurs(will occur) after a period of time that I (will) mention in the chapter (or at the end notes).  
> I am going to try to post one or two chapters per week.  
> I hope you enjoyed this one!


	8. Chapter 8

John arrived in London hand-in-hand with his wife. He was sad that the honeymoon was over but, truly, there was no place like home. He had missed the city, the crimes, the thrill of chasing Sherlock around.... _Sherlock_. A week had gone by, and he still hadn't answered John's text message. He knew he couldn't check on Sherlock that same day, but he hoped to be able to visit soon.  
\---------------------------------------  
John had not been able to check on Sherlock the next day or the day after that, or the one after that... In fact it took him a week and a half to make room in his schedule to visit Sherlock. His honeymoon had lasted for three weeks, thus he had a lot of paperwork, and appointments, to attend to. His wife also took a lot of his time. They were still newly weds, thus the novelty of being married was still present, mostly for Mary. She wanted John home right after work so they could eat dinner together. She wanted him there during the weekends for the mundane house chores. John didn't complain but, after a week and a half, his worry about Sherlock's well-being became too much for him.  
  
He went to visit his friend one night, after work. He arrived at Baker Street at eight thirty. From the outside, the lights seemed to be off, and the street was oddly quiet.He had brought some milk, knowing Sherlock probably did not have any. John moved to open the door, but it was locked and he no longer had a key thus he knocked on the front door; Mrs. Hudson opened it. She seemed surprised, and not particularly pleased, to see him.  
  
"Hello dear" she said with a tight smile  
  
"Hello Mrs. Hudson, is Sherlock home?"  
  
"No, dear. He is not"  
  
"Is he in a case or-"  
  
"I don't know"  
  
This conversation was starting to worry John "well, do you know where he is?"  
  
"Why do you ask, John?"  
  
John was taken aback by the question "because I need to see him... Mrs. Hudson, what is going on?"  
  
"Nothing dear" she said with another forced smile "now, if you'll excuse me, I'm baking cookies" Mrs. Hudson tried to close the door but John put his hand in between, effectively stopping her.  
  
"Where is Sherlock?" Said John as his anger started to mount  
  
"He doesn't live here anymore John"  
  
"What? What do you mean he doesn't-"  
  
"I mean exactly that. He moved out a bit more than two weeks ago. Good night, John" the landlady said, quickly slamming the door in John's face. Her tone was much colder than what John had ever heard her use. What the hell was going on?  
  
John tried calling Lestrade, several times in fact, but he got no answer. John felt his stomach churn as horribly vivid images of a certain detective falling to his death started popping up in his mind. Where the hell was Sherlock?  
\---------------------------------------------  
Sherlock sat quietly in one of Mycroft's armchairs. Mycroft had been able to persuade their parents to come a week later than scheduled. They had arrived this morning, and Sherlock was counting the hours for them to leave.  
  
It was much easier to be alone with Mycroft. He could sulk in peace. He could choose to lock himself in his make-do lab, as he tried to forget about the world. He could help his brother work when he was bored out of his mind. He could silently cry at night, drink in hand, knowing that Mycroft would come and hold him quietly, comfortingly, until he fell asleep; neither one would mention it in the morning, there was no need.  
  
But none of that would happen with his parents here. Sherlock had to pretend that everything was fine, because he couldn't bear the thought of worrying his parents. Not that they weren't worried already.  
  
"Sherlock are you listening to me?" Said his mother, effectively bringing him out of his trance  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I said, are you listening?"  
  
"No, mother. I apologize. I... Got lost in my head"  
  
"Of course you did... Anyway, how is that friend of yours... John was it?"  
  
Sherlock felt as if he was swallowing led "he is... Married and, for future reference mother, I do not have friends" Mycroft felt a pang of heartache at those words  
  
"But, I thought he was your best friend" said his father, confused  
  
"Whatever gave you that idea?"  
  
"Well, that is what Mycroft said. Besides, you jumped off a building for the man. Surely you must care for him" said his mother  
  
Sherlock shot a venomous glance at Mycroft, before bolting out of the room. Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly  
  
"Did he have a fight with the man?" Asked his father. His worry was obvious.  
  
"No, father. I believe Sherlock explained it clearly enough by himself, though. John Watson got married"  
\-----------------------------------------------  
  
Mycroft had left his parents to rest, and had retreated to his studio, when the phone ringed.  
  
"Yes?" Said a rather tired Mycroft Holmes. Comforting his brother every night was starting to take a toll on him  
  
"Good evening Mycroft, sorry for the late call" said a, by now, familiar voice  
  
"It is quite alright, Gregory. How can I help you?"  
  
"John's back. He has been calling"  
  
"Have you answered?"  
  
"No, you asked me not to"  
  
"Thank you, Gregory" said Mycroft with a small smile.  
  
"I still think he should know"  
  
"I don't think Sherlock is ready to see John. But, you are right, we can't delay the inevitable any longer. If John calls again, tell him that Sherlock has been staying with me for a while"  
  
"He'll want to see him" warned Lestrade  
  
Mycroft was silent for a few minutes, as he analyzed the field and assessed the different outcomes. Of course, Sherlock was very hard to predict, thus he wasn't sure if he was truly accounting for all of the possible outcomes. " let him come. I will warn Sherlock in the morning, so that he has the choice of whether or not he wants to see John"  
  
"Alright, well, I've got to go. But, we have to grab something to eat one of these days. I had lots of fun last time"  
  
"Hmm, so did I" said Mycroft with a soft smile  
  
"Alright text me when you are free"  
  
"Have a good night, Gregory" said Mycroft as he hung up the phone.Indeed he had had fun the other night, _too_ much fun.  
  
They had first gone out for drinks the night Sherlock arrived at Mycroft's house. It had been terribly awkward at first, but as the night wore on, and alcohol lowered their inhibitions, they had found themselves laughing and chatting as two old friends. Greg told him a bit about his uni years and all the crazy frat parties he had attended. He told him about his first years in the Yard, and how he became a detective. Mycroft, in turn, told him a bit about his childhood. Granted, Mycroft didn't share much, but it was more than what he had said in years. He seemed to be able to relax around Greg.  
  
After that, they met again at the end of the week. The second time around, it had not felt awkward at all. Lestrade found Mycroft to be very intriguing, very... _Appealing_. Indeed, they met twice again after that.  
  
Mycroft found himself truly enjoying, and even yearning, the company of this regular goldfish, and that was not something he could afford. He was torn between texting the man or ending this, whatever "this" was, now. In the end, his more _sentimental_ side won the battle.  
  
 _I am free on thursday- MH_  
  
 _Well then, I guess I'll see you then. 8pm?- GL_  
  
 _I_   _will send a car to pick you up- MH_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it is short. I'll make up for it by posting the next one by Monday ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But I'm only human  
>  And I bleed when I fall down  
>  I'm only human  
>  And I crash and I break down  
>  Your words in my head, knives in my heart  
>  You build me up and then I fall apart  
>  'Cause I'm only human  
>  I'm only human  
>  I'm only human  
>  Just a little human  
>  I can take so much  
>  'Til I've had enough..."  
> \- Human by Christina Perri

"Why the _hell_ would you let Lestrade give John your address?" Seethed Sherlock. He felt like punching his meddlesome brother  
  
"He has not heard from you in a month. He is naturally starting to get worried. Besides, it is time you face him"   
  
Sherlock let out an indignant huff "when will you stop making decisions for me? I am _not_ a child anymore, Mycroft"  
  
"And yet you act like one. You knew you eventually had to talk to him"  
  
"Yes, I just wanted more time" said an exasperated Sherlock  
  
"For what? Why do you need more time?" Pressed Mycroft  
  
"To come to terms with..." Sherlock rubbed his eyes tiredly" I... I'm letting him go Mycroft" he said softly  
  
"What?"  
  
"It is too painful to see him with Mary and I want him to be _happy_... Besides he doesn't need me. There is no need for me to stay around" Said Sherlock as he turned away from his brother to look out the window. He didn't want his brother to see him break. He wasn't ready to admit he was that weak.  
  
Mycroft stood stock-still, unsure of what to say. These continuous acts of selflessness were becoming more and more incomprehensible to him.  
\---------------------------------------  
John arrived at Mycroft's house late that afternoon. He had no idea what was going on. He had never thought possible for Sherlock to go to his brother. They had never had a good relationship, so why the sudden change?  
  
 _Well, it's been two years...._  
  
John knocked on the front door and waited. Mycroft opened it; his apparent calm seemed unnaturally forced.  
  
"Good evening, John" said Mycroft with a tight smile  
  
John was still angry at the man, so he wasn't really in the mood for a chitchat "where is Sherlock, Mycroft?"  
  
"Upstairs, with the family"  
  
"Your parents are here?" Said an astonished John  
  
"Yes... They decided to make a little visit" said Mycroft with bored eyes "but, oh, how rude of me. Would you like to come in?"  
  
John went in and quickly made his way up the stairs to find Sherlock sitting, alone, in an armchair near the fire. He seemed to be lost in thought; his hands neatly tucked under his chin. He was wearing his usual blue robe. He looked unhealthily skinny and pale. He had pronounced bags under his eyes. He obviously hadn't been eating, or sleeping, much.   
  
"Sherlock?" Sherlock looked up. His face was impassive, but his jaw was slightly clenched  
  
"John" he sounded... Bored  
  
"You haven't been answering my texts" said John as he moved to sit in an armchair in front of Sherlock  
  
"I have been... Busy. Why are you here?"  
  
"I wanted to know if you were okay. I've been worried" said John. He was surprised at Sherlock's cold attitude.  
  
"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" Said Sherlock without looking at John in the eye.  
  
John remembered those lines. That time Sherlock had been drugged by Irene "any new cases?"  
  
"Yes, none worth my time"  
  
"So if you haven't been solving cases, what have you been doing?"   
  
"I have been helping Mycroft. God knows how he manages without me. His people are quite incompetent" Sherlock said  
  
This made John smile. Of course Sherlock would think that.  
  
"How was the honeymoon?" Sherlock said. John could have sworn he saw Sherlock grimace, but his mask was back on so fast, John figured he had just imagined it.  
  
"Um, it was fine, yeah. Mary loved it. She got very tan over there. You should see how she looks in a bathing suit." said John with a smile as he remembered his gorgeous bride.   
  
"Hmm" mused Sherlock standing up to look out the window as he felt his heart throb with pain.   
  
"How come you moved out of Baker Street?" asked John  
  
Sherlock was quiet for a few minutes "You should go now, John. Mary must be waiting for you"  
  
"What? Why... You didn't answer my question"  
  
"There is nothing to answer. I just felt like leaving. Anyways, it is none of your concern" said Sherlock dismissively as he turned to face John  
  
John was unable to hide his hurt at those word "of course it concerns me. You are my bloody friend-"  
  
"Irrelevant"  
  
"Excuse me?" Said John, getting angrier by the second  
  
"That fact is irrelevant. Where I decide to live is entirely up to me, and it no loner affects you given that you do not live with me anymore"  
  
"You are a bloody prick. Did you know that?"  
  
"You should leave" said Sherlock quietly  
  
"Why are you so eager for me to lea-" but that is when John saw it. There was a syringe slightly sticking out of Sherlock's bathrobe pocket. John felt his blood boil at the sight.  
  
"No. Tell me you are not using again" said John in an ice cold voice  
  
 _No! Of course not. I stopped for **you**. I almost did go back, but I stopped because I. Love. You. _ Sherlock wanted to scream, but no words came out of his mouth  
  
 _I love you_  
  
 _I hate you_  
  
 _Please don't leave_  
  
 _No, don't let me see you_  
  
 _I have to let you go_  
  
 _I hate you, I hate you, I hate you_  
  
 _I love you, I want you, please...._  
  
Sherlock stayed stoically still as his mind tore itself apart. He had to let John go so he could be happy with his wife. Even if it killed him. This wasn't about him; it was about John.  
  
After a few incredibly tense minutes John clenched his hands and sighed "I can't do this anymore, Sherlock. I am married and I have a wife to care for. I can't deal with having to worry constantly about you too. You have to stop doing this"  
  
"I thought I asked you to leave" said Sherlock with a hollow voice  
  
John stood still for a few seconds, before rage flooded him and he stormed out of the room without another word.  
  
Sherlock felt his knees give in as his body went limp. He fell to the floor with a soft thud.  
  
Mycroft, who had not listened to the conversation, came in with a furrowed brow. He quickly examined the room and immediately understood what had transpired in it. He looked at Sherlock with pained eyes  
  
" _Why_ , brother?"  
  
"He had to let go of the last vestiges of this friendship in order to be fully happy. As I said before, he has Mary now. The only thing I can give him is constant pain and worry" Sherlock extended his hand, silently asking for help. Mycroft quickly made his way over to his brother and helped him up  
  
"But what about you?" Said his father, who had been listening from the other room  
  
"What about me?"   
  
"Well, he was a close friend of yours. I am sure this is not easy for-"  
  
"I don't matter, father" said Sherlock through clenched teeth. He was trying to control the tears that were threatening to spill. He felt as though a hole had been ripped through his soul.   
  
John was truly, and irrevocably, _gone_.  
  
Sherlock moved away from Mycroft in one fluid movement "I need air" he said as he fled the flat  
  
 _Always being the noble one. How... Predictable_ said Moriarty with a chuckle  
  
"Please, not now" whispered Sherlock as he stepped outside into the cold night air  
  
He needed a distraction. He needed one _now_. He quickly pulled his phone out and sent a text to the one woman who could, perhaps, offer some sort of distraction. The response was immediate  
  
 _Meet me at the L'autre Pied. You and I are going to have dinner Mr. Holmes- IA_


	10. Chapter 10

Irene Adler sat on a dimly lit table. The restaurant was quite fancy and had an aura of romance and mystery that she enjoyed. Also, it gave people privacy. She was sure no one would be casting furtive glances towards their table.  
  
She had been extremely surprised when she received a text message from him. She had arrived in London a few days ago, and she had figured that Sherlock would eventually find out. What she hadn't been expecting, however, was _him_ contacting _her_. She had expected it to be the other way around. But no matter, she enjoyed surprises.  
  
Sherlock walked in a few minutes later, and she couldn't believe her eyes. Standing in front of her was not the Sherlock Holmes she remembered. The Sherlock Holmes she had known had been a genius full of life, passion, and strength. The detective standing in front of her now was a hollow man that seemed to have been robbed of his most vital organ. He looked like he was ready to fall apart  
  
"Sherlock" she whispered, shocked. He dropped carelessly on the seat next to her, his usual grace gone. A young waiter, probably in his mid twenties, came to check if they were ready to order.  
  
"One glass of Bell's for me"  
  
Irene's eyes widened in surprise. Sherlock Holmes had just ordered a drink; a strong one as well. The man, as far as she knew, didn't even drink.  
  
"A glass of Pinot Noir for me, thank you" she said with a small smile. She turned her full attention to Sherlock once the waiter left "mind explaining what is it that I missed, during my years away, that turned you into this frightening mess?"  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"I think we both know it does"  
  
The waiter soon came back with their drinks. Sherlock drowned his in one gulp. Irene looked at him questioningly.  
  
"Tell me something Irene. How does one make the pain go away?" She stared at him for a moment, confusion clear on her face, until it dawned on her.  
  
"Is this about dear John?" She said in disbelief  
  
"You didn't answer my question"  
  
"What did he do? did he give up on you?" She saw Sherlock's jaw tense immediately "oh my... he's with someone else, isn't he?"  
  
Sherlock looked away, as he motioned for the waiter to come closer.

"yes, sir?"

Sherlock raised his empty glass "keep them coming" he said.The waiter looked at him with surprise, but quickly left to bring him his drink.

this time around, Sherlock took a bit more time with it

"He got married to a lovely woman named Mary" said Sherlock in between sips.

Irene, unsure of what to say, took a sip of her own drink. She was concerned for Sherlock. She wasn't sure how good he was with holding down his liquor. But then again, after a few glasses of scotch, even a heavy drinker would have trouble keeping them down.

"You still haven't answered my question" quipped Sherlock. His eyes seemed to be a bit... Unfocused. The waiter, as ordered, refilled the man's glass

"I am not sure what you want me to say. I have only been truly in love once in my life. And,no, I wasn't in love with you." She said with a smirk "I certainly was infatuated with you and cared for you, still care for you, but I was never in love"

"Then who?" He asked. His speech pattern didn't seem to be as refined as usual

"A man named Charles. I met him before I became a dominatrix. He was the first, and only, man to rob my heart"

"What happened?"

"He broke it"

Sherlock rolled his eyes "that much was obvious" said Sherlock, slurring the last word, before taking another sip "my question was, how did you overcome it?"

"I am not sure if you ever truly get over heartbreak. At the beginning, it is going to hurt like hell, and you will wonder why was it that you allowed yourself to feel. After a while, things will start to pass; you will start to feel more like yourself, even if it's still hurts sometimes. That is, until you meet someone new and you start to forget about the pain and the long nights" she took his glass of scotch and took a long sip"of course, that happens to regular people. I'm not sure how it works for people as smart, and fucked up, as you"

"Thanks for the support" he grunted, claiming his drink once again. He looked at the waiter that by now was standing relatively close. The boy knew what he wanted and, only with a moment's hesitation, came back to serve him another drink

"Well, there is one thing you could do. That is what I did, anyway" she took Sherlock's drink away, for good

"And what would that be?"

"You can stop being Sherlock Holmes. Leave London and start fresh. If you don't do the things Sherlock Holmes does, then perhaps you won't feel like Sherlock Holmes. Besides, the distance might do you some good"

Sherlock twirled the idea for a while in his head. "You said you did it. What did you mean by that?"

"I left my old life behind, and I became the dominatrix" she said with a small smile "I don't know if it will work for you but, hey, you've got nothing to lose"

Sherlock left for America the very next day. New York city, to be precise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I updated this chapter so that the drinking part would make more sense.  
> If it still doesn't make sense, please feel free to say so in the comments and I will do what I can to fix it.  
> I know it was a short chapter, but I will try to post the next one soon.  
> You will be meeting a new character next chapter that I personally enjoyed writing ;).  
> I chose New York because that is where I live so, you know... anyway. I hope you guys are enjoying it.  
> Thank you SO much for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock had his eyes closed, as he waited for the plane to land. He had talked to Mycroft the night before. After talking to Irene he had, in a moment of passion, decided to leave London. Mycroft had tried reasoning with him, but nothing would dissuade his stubborn little brother.  
  
Mycroft had finally given up, and had bought Sherlock a one-way ticket to New York. Mycroft had an apartment in the city, which now belonged to Sherlock or at least it did for the foreseeable future. He had also given Sherlock one of his credit cards, given that the detective would probably not be working. However, They both knew that the real reason behind that simple action was that Mycroft wished to maintain some sort of surveillance over his little brother but, for once, neither one of them said anything.  
  
Mycroft had warned Sherlock that there was already a tenant living in the apartment, and that the contract was still afoot for the next three months.  
  
Mycroft, not completely trusting his brother, had ordered a team to install cameras on the apartment while his tenant was at work. He wasn't sure if Sherlock would be able to stop himself from relapsing. He had also called his tenant and warned him about who Sherlock was and what to expect. The man had agreed to let Sherlock stay in the apartment, and had promised to keep an eye on him.  
  
Mycroft had met with his tenant three times before and knew that, if any "normal" human being could deal with Sherlock at the moment, it was his tenant. The man had a seemingly unending amount of patience, yet he would't take any unnecessary crap. He, thankfully, was also extremely smart for a regular goldfish. Mycroft would even go so far as to say that the man was somewhat above the pool of goldfishes. Hopefully, Sherlock would find him bearable and, eventually, warm up to the guy.  
\---------------------------------------------------  
  
Sherlock silently opened the door to his brother's flat. The smell of fish and chips was the first thing that hit him. He close the door behind him and went to the living room. The place was practically immaculate. He started moving silently around the flat, checking the different rooms, until he found his bedroom. He hear footsteps behind him and turned to face the newcomer. He saw a tall, well-build, tan, dark haired, man walk into the room.  
  
"You must be Sherlock" he said with a kind smile "My name is Victor. It is a pleasure to meet you"  
  
Sherlock didn't answer immediately, but rather took his time to deduce the man.  
  
"Are you doing your deduction thing? Your brother mentioned you could do that" explained Victor at Sherlock's slightly surprised look "well did you find anything interesting?"  
  
If Sherlock was surprised by his question, he didn't show it "You are thirty... Two years old. You work in the stock market and are currently doing very well. You recently broke up with your girlfriend" Sherlock moved closer to take a closer look. He began circling the man "you come from wealth, but you refuse to accept your parents money. Well, that or they refuse to give it to you. You have a good relationship with your... Brother" said Sherlock who had noticed a small picture on the coffee table in the living room "you have trained in many different martial arts and you are in the possession of a gun, which you keep in a safe box in your room"  
  
Victor was agape "wow" he swallowed, before offering a small smile "that is very impressive... Anyway, I made lunch. Your brother told me about your habit of not eating. However, he gave me permission to... Force you to eat if you don't eat, at least, every two days"  
  
"What makes you think you can force me?"  
  
"Well, you said so yourself, I have been trained in martial arts. I'm sure I can, eventually, tie you to a chair and force feed you if necessary" Victor was still smiling, but there was a threatening gleam on his eyes "now c'mon lunch is ready"  
  
Sherlock stood still for a second, considering the possibility of rebelling, but eventually followed Victor to the kitchen. He had promised Mycroft that he would at least try to behave. He may as well try, at least for a few days. He walked towards the kitchen table and sat down smoothly. He drummed his fingers against the table as he waited for Victor to serve him his food.  
  
"I figured you would like to eat something that might remind you of home" Sherlock said nothing. What was the point in telling Victor that, no, he was actually trying to forget about "home".  
  
The food was surprisingly good, and Sherlock found himself enjoying it. It was rare that he actually liked somebody's cooking.  
  
"Did you learn how to cook in your earlier trips to Europe, or in your last one to Istambul?"  
  
Victor choked on his food"how... How did you... Oh, right. I keep forgetting I'm eating with a genius"  
  
"You don't seem to be upset by my deductions"  
  
"Why would I be upset? They are awesome. I have never met someone that can do that" Vitor took a sip of water as he studied Sherlock " do people usually get upset?"  
  
"Yes, there are of course a few exceptions" said Sherlock, immediately thinking about his dear doctor  
  
"Well, I guess if you suddenly deduce the living crap out of someone, they can get upset. It's just a matter of finding the balance, and I have the feeling that you just recently discovered that balance"  
  
"I guess you could say that"  
  
"How did you find it?" Asked Victor curiously  
  
Sherlock's mind immediately went to John and his _a bit not good, Sherlock..._ God, how he missed his blogger. Sherlock, unconsciously, clenched his jaw "I'd rather not talk about it"  
  
Victor nodded, noticing that Sherlock seemed to be very much uncomfortable with the topic. Given that they were going to be living together for a while, Victor figured that he should probably try to establish a good relationship with the man.  
  
Besides, Sherlock was terribly handsome and It would have been foolish of Victor not to appreciate that. It was true that he had broken up with his girlfriend a few months ago, but he was quite willing to find a new romantic partner. He had no qualms with Sherlock being a guy; in fact he preferred it that way.  
  
Victor, nevertheless, was not blind. He could see that Sherlock was probably going through a really bad breakup, and would want, and need, space. He also didn't know if Sherlock was into guys or not. He didn't seem to be the type of person that would open up easily, but that didn't mean Victor couldn't try.


	12. Chapter 12

Mycroft was staring at the CCTV recording intently. Victor and Sherlock seemed to be getting along extremely well, considering how Sherlock usually reacted to new people. Sherlock had been gone for a week now, and Mycroft was finding it very hard to concentrate on his work; his worry for his brother seemed to sneak into his mind at the worst possible times. The fact that Lestrade kept calling him to wonder how Sherlock was doing, was not helping either. In fact he had not been answering any of the man's calls.  
  
He just wasn't sure what to say, so he kept putting it off. They had stopped "seeing" each other once Sherlock left. Sherlock's actions had left a deep imprint on Mycroft, and he had reevaluated his relationship with the inspector. He realized that he had quickly become infatuated with the man, and he would not allow himself to fall into that deathly trap.  
  
Of course, Mycroft should have known that he would not be able to ignore Lestrade forever.  
  
There was a struggle at the door, and a few incomprehensible shouts, before an angry DI bolted into the room; one of Mycroft's agents hot on his heels. Mycroft looked up, and leaned back. He quickly dismissed his agent, sensing the DI's impatient glare.  
  
"Good evening, De-"  
  
"Cut the crap, Mycroft" snapped Lestrade "I've been calling you for the past week. Why the hell have you not been answering your phone?"  
  
"I've been busy. The country cannot run itself, inspector"said Mycroft with a dismissive hand, which just seemed to inflame Lestrade even more.  
  
"Busy, that is your excuse? do you have any idea..." Lestrade took a deep breath, trying to reel himself in "A week, Mycroft. Do you even realize how worried I've been?"  
  
"Sherlock is fine, or as fine as he can be at the moment. You needn't worry"  
  
"I'm not talking about Sherlock, you git. I mean, of course I've been worried about Sherlock, but I was talking about _you_ "  
  
Mycroft was at a loss for words. Lestrade had been worried about him? Mycroft felt something warm expanding in his chest. He had no bloody idea what it was, but it felt lovely... And quite scary. It was an unknown emotion, and Mycroft hated dealing with the unknown.  
  
"I am fine, Gregory. There is no need to worry about me" Mycroft said once he was sure his façade was firmly in place  
  
"You're doing it again" said Lestrade with an annoyed expression on his face  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"What Sherlock always used to do. You are closing yourself off. You get scared, and so you push people away. I've seen Sherlock do it so many times, it is not even funny"  
  
Mycroft was flabbergasted. He had underestimated Lestrade's observational skills. Well, being around Sherlock for so long had probably helped.  
  
"What are you afraid of?" Said Lestrade, taking Mycroft out of his musings.  
  
"I'm not afraid"  
  
"You're lying" said Lestrade circling the desk, and yanking Mycroft's chair backwards. He then proceeded to place his hands on both sides of the chair's armrests, effectively crowding Mycroft's personal space.  
  
"What are you afraid of?" Repeated Lestrade. He was so close.. So close... Mycroft  simply couldn't think. He tried to look away, but his treacherous eyes seemed to be glued to Lestrade's lips and, try as he might, he couldn't look away.  
  
Lestrade soon sensed the intense look Mycroft was giving him, and felt a jolt of electricity run through his spine. He lowered his head without thinking, and stopped a mere inch away from Mycroft's lips; he could feel Mycroft's delicious breath against his skin. But, just when Mycroft started to close the distance between them, Anthea walked in  
  
"Excuse me sir-" she stopped abruptly, mid-sentence, as she looked at the scene unfolding in front of her.  
  
Indeed, both men jumped when they heard the feminine voice, effectively breaking the moment. Mycroft breathed in, trying to collect his jumbled thoughts.  
  
"Yes, dear?" He sai, still a bit breathless  
  
"Um... You have a... Um... Meeting, sir" said Anthea, wishing that the ground would swallow her up.  
  
"Yes...right" Mycroft stood up and rounded his desk, trying to put as much distance between them as humanly possible. "I'm afraid our meeting will have to be cut short. I'll... Contact you" said Mycroft stiffly, as he practically fled the room. That had been a _very_ close call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it is an Increadibly short chapter, I apologize. However, I wanted to give you some love before next chapter, because the next one is just going to be angst.  
> Anyway, thank you SO much for those of you that keep reading my story every time I update. It is really, really nice of you.  
> I really hope you are liking it!  
> p.s I will update again by friday


	13. Chapter 13

_John could smell gunpowder and morphine. He could hear the deadly grenades going off near him. He was running towards someone, but he couldn't remember who it was. John only knew that he or she was in grave danger. He felt a sense of dread settle in his stomach, and he began to run faster._

_He could see people running around, carrying guns; some were carrying their friends to the make-do tent in which the wounded soldiers were treated. Everyone was bleeding; the fearful expressions on his comrades' faces made his stomach churn. They had fallen into a trap, and they were now paying the price of their careless mistake. An old friend of his stopped him; his expression was grim._

_"I'm sorry, John"_  
   
 _John saw a body laying on the ground a few meters away; it was clearly a man, whom he didn't recognize. The man, who was covered in blood, was obviously dead, but John felt a great urgency to make sure; he broke into a sprint. When he finally reached the body, he quickly turned it around to see the face and, much to his horror, it was a terribly familiar face; it was Sherlock._  
  
John bolted up awake with a scream. He could feel his heart ricocheting, and his palms sweating. The dream had felt so bloody real... John tried to control his breathing as trembles whacked his body.  
  
It had been two weeks since he had last seen Sherlock, and it was starting to take a toll on John. Had he been too harsh on Sherlock? He was his friend after all, and if Sherlock was back on drugs, then something had gone terribly wrong. A wave of guilt and shame hit him as he realized; he shouldn't have left Sherlock to fend on his own, not in such a crucial moment.  
  
He had been selfish, and stupid. He had promised Sherlock nothing would change, and yet John had been gone for a month. He had ended his friendship with the best man he knew, just because said man had slipped and messed up.  
  
John bolted out of bed, unable to stay there any longer. He needed to see Sherlock.  
  
"John what's wrong?" Said a still very sleepy Mary  
  
"I need to check on Sherlock" John said as he started dressing  
  
"John it is two in the morning. You don't even know where he is"  
  
"He's probably still at Myc-"  
  
"John you can't just go barging into somebody's home at two in the morning. You can go later, at a more reasonable hour, if you wish" said a very annoyed Mary.  
  
John felt like punching the wall. He knew he couldn't just rush off to find Sherlock, but he didn't need Mary to remind him.  
  
"I need air" said John as he walked out of the room.  
  
He felt angry; angry at Mary for taking him away from Sherlock; angry at the world for letting Sherlock slip through his fingers; angry at himself, for being so stupid, so blind. He had once again proven that he could see but not _observe_.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
Two weeks. It had been two bloody weeks since Sherlock had left London, and he felt like he was dying. He had no cases, thus his brain had no escape routes, no relief. He had much, _too much_ , time to concentrate on John and Serbia, Serbia and John. At times, Sherlock was no longer able to tell the difference; they both offered vast amounts of unwanted pain.  
  
It was so ironic; he had made a friend, only to lose him. He had given away his heart, only to have it broken. This was exactly why he didn't _do_ relationships. They were complicated, tiresome, confusing, and, more often than not, ended in heartbreak. What was the point of investing so much time, effort, and love, if in the end it would all be for nothing?  
  
 _All lives end, all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage_  
  
Well, fuck. Mycroft couldn't have been more right.  
  
But, if he was being honest with himself, he wouldn't change a thing. John had been the greatest thing that ever happened to him, even if, now, the memories were dulled by sorrow. John had saved him from himself, and Sherlock would always be grateful for that. He didn't regret leaving for those two years either. Well, he did regret hurting John, but he had kept John safe. In fact,  Sherlock would do it again if it meant keeping John alive. Besides, it had eventually led to John's happiness; it had led him to Mary.  
  
His John was happy now, and that was all that mattered. Sherlock would swallow his pain, and let John live his life. He would cover John's eyes with a veil of lies, so long as it kept him happy and safe. John didn't need to know Sherlock was breaking, one piece at a time.  
  
That was one of the reasons he had left London, after all. It had been his final gift to John Watson. Sherlock had given everything up for John; his life,his work, his _sanity_.... But it was all fine, because John was happy. He _had_ to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place a week after the last chapter.  
> I hope you like it! I'll try to publish the next one as soon as possible


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. I had a very busy week. To make up for it, this chapter is a bit longer. I won't promise another chapter until next Monday, probably.

John headed in the direction of Mycroft's house as soon as the clock hit seven. His nightmare had prevented him from falling asleep again. But, to be fair, he hadn't even tried. He had left for a short walk, which had turned into a few hours walk.  
  
He couldn't deal with Mary at the moment; he was too worried about Sherlock. He felt quite guilty about this, though. He had only been married for a bit more than a month and a half and yet, for the last week, he had been staying late at work just so that he didn't have to go home. If he was being quite honest with himself, the domestic bliss, that newlyweds usually experience, was starting to wear off. But that wasn't supposed to happen; it was unnatural. Thus, he had clung more tightly to Mary and his idea of marriage, shunning his best friend away in the process.  
  
John arrived at Mycroft's house, but nobody seemed to be home. Well, John wasn't giving up so easily. He took out his phone and called Mycroft who, of course, wasn't picking up. He tried a few times, before changing his approach and calling someone that might know where Sherlock was; Molly. She picked immediately  
  
"Hello?" She sounded very sleepy  
  
"Hey Molly, sorry for the early call. I hope I didn't wake you up" said John although, at the moment, he didn't really care if the call had woken her up or not.  
  
"No, it's fine. What do you need?"  
  
"Do you know where Sherlock is? I... Well, we.... I haven't seen him in a while. I'm at Mycroft's, but he isn't here"  
  
Molly remained quiet for a long time before saying "I thought you guys were not speaking anymore" her voice was guarded  
  
"Well we are not... I mean we are... It is complicated" John breathed in "look, I need to see him and apologize"  
  
Molly was, once again, silent for a while "Well, it took you a while to realize" John felt as if he had been slapped "look John, I just know that he's not in London at the moment. He didn't tell me where he was going. That's something you'll have to ask Mycroft. Anyway, I need to go. I have to get ready for work"  
  
"Wait Molly-" She hung up before he could even finish his sentence. John didn't understand what was happening. They all seemed to be angry at him; First Mrs. Hudson and now Molly. He had no idea what is was that had set them off but, at the moment, he didn't give a damn. He still needed to find Sherlock.  
  
 _Greg, do you know where I can find Sherlock?- JW_  
  
Greg heard his phone chime. It was John. Oh god, what was he supposed to say? Mycroft probably didn't want John to know where Sherlock was, and it was not Greg's place to contradict the man. Also, he hadn't talk to Mycroft since their little "incident" and he was sure that telling John such a thing would not help his case with Mycroft.  
  
 _Um, You should probably ask Mycroft- GL_  
  
 _He is not picking up his phone- JW_  
  
Greg chuckled dryly. So the bastard wasn't even picking up his phone. Greg wasn't sure if this annoyed him or made him more infatuated with Mycroft. He was still very confused about where he stood in his relationship with Mycroft. He hadn't been with a man since uni, and even then it had only been a one time, it-is-an-experiment, thing. He had been married to a woman for years and he had been happy, until she had cheated on him.  
  
It still hurt to think about that. He had given her everything he was, and she had discarded it all for a young man. Well, perhaps it was time to reinvent himself. Mycroft was kind and loyal, even if he showed the world a cold and calculated façade. He was brilliant, powerful, and quite attractive. So what if he was a man? Greg deserved to be happy, and he was sure Mycroft could make him very happy.  
  
The problem now was getting the other man to reach the same conclusion. Greg knew that Mycroft was irrationally afraid of sentiment. He had seen sentiment fail too many times; he had seen what a broken heart could do to a person. Mycroft couldn't afford to let that happen to him; a nation depended solely on him, after all. Greg, nevertheless, was willing to try. But how could he get Mycroft to talk to him?  
  
Suddenly, he realized he knew exactly how .  
  
 _I need to talk to you. It's about John- GL_  
  
 _I am not in London at the moment. I have some business to attend to. I will contact you as soon as I'm back- MH_  
  
 _When will that be?- GL_  
  
 _Two weeks- MH_  
  
 _Don't think I don't know what you are doing, Mycroft- GL_  
  
 _I'm not lying, it that is what you think- MH_  
  
 _you are avoiding me-GL_  
\-----------------------------  
  
Victor could tell Sherlock's mood was growing fouler and fouler by the day. He was not sure what to expect but, to be honest, he really didn't want to find out. Of course, it was only a matter of time until Sherlock exploded.  
  
Two weeks after Sherlock moved in, Victor came home to the sound of gunfire.  
  
"What the hell, Sherlock!" Screamed Victor "What do you think you are doing?"  
  
"I'm losing my mind" Sherlock screamed "don't you understand? My brain doesn't work like every regular, dull, brain. I need to keep it active or it will rot. I have not had a single case in weeks! I have had so much bloody time to think about John, and Serbia!" Sherlock was moving around like a madman. So big was Sherlock's need to vent, that he didn't even care that he was pouring his heart out to someone he barely knew.  
  
Indeed Sherlock's little monologue had been very informative. There was a guy named John, and Victor could bet he was the one responsible for breaking Sherlock's heart. He could also see that Sherlock was not over this John guy and, lastly, something had happened to Sherlock in Serbia. Well, he would deal with this one problem at a time.  
  
Victor breathed in to reel his anger back in. It was obvious Sherlock needed help, and he'd be damned if he at least didn't try to help.  
  
"What do you mean "cases"?"  
  
" I solve crimes, Victor. I'm a consultive detective" said Sherlock as he dropped on the couch  
  
"What exactly is that?"  
  
"I solve the murders that the police can't handle, which are most of them"  
  
"Are you any good?" Said Victor as he leaned against the wall. Sherlock looked up at him with murderous eyes. Victor got the message  
  
"Look, I'm friends with the head of the Police department here in New York. I'll give him a call. I'm sure we'll be able to get you a case. In the meantime, stop trying to tear this apartment down" said Victor as if trying to appease a wild animal. Sherlock only grunted in response.  
  
It took Victor a day to get a case for Sherlock. The chief, Andrew, was a good friend of his, and although he resisted the idea at first, he eventually gave in. The chief told Victor that it was a relatively simple case, and that it should take Sherlock no more than a week to crack it; Sherlock solved it in 30 minutes.  
  
To say the Police was impressed was a severe understatement. They started coming to Sherlock almost daily and, by the end of the week, the FBI had sent an agent to assess Sherlock. The FBI ended up negotiating a deal with Sherlock; he would begin working solely for them, but he could remain in New York. He would also be allowed to participate in the more... Confidential cases as long as he performed well. Sherlock, of course, agreed. At this point, he would do _anything_ for an interesting case.  
\-------------------------------------  
  
Victor was very pleased with the turn of events. It had been a two weeks since the shooting incident, and Sherlock was already much calmer. He had just started working for the FBI a few days ago. They had immediately granted him access to cases that even seasoned agents didn't have access to.  
  
But, he still didn't look happy; his eyer were like two blue, empty, orbits. Victor could tell that there had been a spark there, but now only its ghost remained. Something had to be done about that  
\-------------------------------------  
  
"Happy Anniversary" said Victor with a goofy smile as he handed Sherlock a small present  
  
Sherlock seemed to be dumbfounded "Pardon?"  
  
"Well, it's been a month since you moved in. I figured you deserved a present for behaving... Relatively well" Victor sat down next to Sherlock as Sherlock opened the delicate box.  
  
The box contained different chemicals, which Sherlock recognized immediately. Many of them, he used to use almost daily when experimenting. Sherlock swallowed, unsure as to what to say.  
  
"How did-"  
  
"Your brother. He told me you enjoyed experimenting. My mother is a sort of chemist, so it was pretty easy to get a hold of them. She said you would probably like those if you are used to experimenting regularly" Sherlock nodded silently as gratitude washed over him  
  
"Thank you" he whispered. Victor grinned  
  
"Hopefully experimenting will be able to distract you from whatever it is that is paining you"  
  
Sherlock looked at Victor with narrowed eyes. This man was more observant than Sherlock had expected. Well, it is not like he had been trying to hide his feelings.  
  
"You don't have to tell me, Sherlock. I'm a New Yorker, remember? We don't usually meddle in other people's business, and we mostly don't judge either" Victor gave Sherlock's arm a light squeeze before getting up "I'm going to order something to eat, and you are eating tonight"  
  
Sherlock waited for Victor to leave the room before retreating into his mind palace. This man was truly wonderful. He had only known Sherlock for a month, yet he had picked up on many of Sherlock's problems.  He made life easier for Sherlock.  
  
Indeed they had fallen into a routine by now. Victor would wake up before the sun was fully up. He would get ready and leave around six am, given that he had to get to work quite early. Sherlock would leave an hour later. By the time Sherlock was back, Victor would have dinner ready. He forced Sherlock to eat once a day, which Sherlock thought was ridiculous. However, after almost a month of fighting for it, Victor had managed to train Sherlock to eat on his own once a day, which was pretty impressive. Victor would generally help Sherlock relax when he didn't have to stay late at work. He would come and put on a movie, and listen to Sherlock rant about how bad the movie was, or he would listen to Sherlock compose.  
  
Sherlock was eventually shaken out of his reverie by Victor, who informed him that dinner was ready.  
  
"You can't honestly expect me to eat this much"  
  
"You didn't eat yesterday, and I didn't push it. Today, you have to eat" warned Victor as he placed Sherlock's plate in front of him "do it as a present for me in our "anniversary"" Sherlock rolled his eyes, but started to eat. He had to give it to Victor, he was quite good at manipulating people.  
  
  
Mycroft watched them eat with a small smile. Victor had definitely been a good influence on his brother. Mycroft knew that, by no means had Sherlock forgotten John. In fact, he doubted that that was even possible, but Victor helped take the edge off. Hopefully, this friendship wouldn't end up being a colossal failure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys are enjoying it! I know that, in real life, the FBI does not work like that; however, I'm asking you to take the ride with me.  
> Next chapter will be Mystrade ;)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I'm trash. I was supposed to post this a week ago, but I was incredibly busy. I'll make up for it by posting 2 new chapters this week. Thank you for putting up with my delays

Mycroft rubbed his eyes tiredly. He had just returned to London, and his workload seemed to be never ending. In truth, leaving London had been a grave, but necessary, mistake. He had been running away from Lestrade since their almost incident. He was honestly afraid to face the man. What was he supposed to say? He had almost kissed the man. Granted, Lestrade had been the one to initiate it but still... He was Mycroft Holmes. He was the "ice man"; he could not, would not, reduce himself to something as childish as feeling, except with Sherlock.  
  
But Lestrade had dealt with Sherlock for almost ten years, before meeting Mycroft. He had gotten used to having to track Sherlock down; he still remembered the first few years. Sherlock had been like a wild, untamable, force of nature. Tracking Sherlock down had been worse than tracking a serial killer so, by now, Lestrade was a pro at the game of cat and mouse.  
  
Mycroft might be smarter than him, and even smarter than Sherlock, but Lestrade was great at tracking people down. He knew Mycroft would avoid him once he came back to London; he had been preparing for a week. Lestrade had assumed, knowing Mycroft was as obsessed with his work as Sherlock, that the best place to find Mycroft was at his office. He had been there once before, and so he knew not only how to get there, but how to get in without creating a ruckus.   
  
He found Mycroft sitting on his chair, reading a report. He seemed to be tired, but he still held himself with an enviable finesse. Mycroft had this unique ability to look, and act, like royalty under any circumstances. Greg felt the strange need to rip that mask off; he wanted to see Mycroft come undone.  
  
"You've been avoiding me" said Lestrade in a low voice as he locked the door; he didn't want any uninvited visitors to come into the room.  
  
Mycroft jumped in his seat when he heard that well known voice. He had been so immersed in reading the report, that he hadn't even realized he was not alone in the room. "Detective Inspector, how do you do?" Said Mycroft once he felt collected enough to greet him.  
  
Lestrade didn't answer, but sat himself languidly upon the desk. Mycroft sat back stiffly. He wasn't sure if he wanted to move closer, or move as far away as possible. Lestrade, noticing Mycroft's indecision,  smiled softly.  
  
"Are you ready to talk?" Asked Lestrade  
  
"I believe we're talking right now."  
  
"Don't be a smart arse, Mycroft. You know what I mean"  
  
"There is really nothing to talk about, my dear Inspector"  
  
"Oh, really?" The Inspector lurched over Mycroft, gripping the arms of his chair. Mycroft could feel Lestrade's warm breath on his face."I disagree"  
  
Thankfully, Mycroft was ready and made no attempt to close the distance between their lips. "Well, what do you wish to talk about?"  
  
"You like me, but you keep escaping your feelings"  
  
"Please Gregory... I don't work like that. I thought it was fairly obvious by now"  
  
"No, you act like you don't care, but I know you do. You care about your brother, your parents, the country and, you have to admit, you care a little about me"  
  
"Where are you going with this, Gregory?"  
  
"I like you, and I'm not going to let you flee just because you are afraid"  
  
"I'm not afr-" Mycroft was silenced by a pair of soft lips. He gasped, and Lestrade took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Mycroft stayed stock-still for a few seconds, before his treacherous body gave in, and he responded in kind.  
  
Oh, it felt wonderful to have a body pressed against his. Mycroft ran his hands through the detective's hair, eliciting a soft moan from the man. Mycroft wasn't sure how long they stayed there, devouring each other's mouth. Eventually, Mycroft's mind was able to reassert its authority over his body, and he pulled away.  
  
"So, are you ready to talk now?" Said Greg panting slightly.  
  
"I still don't know what's there to talk about. There is a reason why I don't do relationships. Caring is not an advantage."  
  
"That's a load of bullshit."  
  
"Is it? Then please explain to me how has loving John Watson helped my brother" challenged Mycroft.  
  
"You can't compare us to them. First of all, I'm not in denial. I know when I like somebody, and I don't particularly care that you are male. Besides, Sherlock became a better human being because of John."  
  
"But was it worth it?"  
  
"It's always worth it. Love is complicated Mycroft. Relationships are complicated, but they make life worth living. To have someone that you know you can trust, that loves you, is one of the most beautiful things. Yes, it is not always easy. Fights are normal in a relationship and, sometimes, that person will break your heart. But that doesn't take away all the good moments you had with that person; those memories are yours. My wife cheated on me and she broke my heart, but that doesn't mean I wasn't happy with her. Yeah, it didn't work out and it hurt like a bitch, but she made me happy for many years. You can't close yourself off just because you are afraid of getting hurt"  
  
Mycroft was silent. What was he supposed to day to that? It made sense... But it didn't minimize the possibility of pain.  
  
"At least give me the chance to take you on a proper date" said Lestrade softly, crouching on the floor. He knew Mycroft was as stubborn as Sherlock, if not worse. He probably needed one last little push. Lestrade slowly raised himself as he traced circular patterns on Mycroft's cheek. He slowly whispered in Mycroft's ear "so what do you say?"  
  
Mycroft lost himself in the caress. It took him a few seconds to realize Lestrade had asked him a question but, to be honest, he had been too distracted to pay attention. His mind was strangely relaxed, which in turn lowered his defenses and awoke his more... Primal desires.  
  
He soon found himself kissing the Inspector again. His self preservation was screaming for him to get away, but the voice was soon silenced, as Mycroft couldn't bring himself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you go. Mystrade is officially going. Hope you liked the chapter. You'll have the next one by Wednesday. Again, I'm sorry for the delay.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch my back so i make sure  
>  you're right behind me as before  
>  yesterday the night before tomorrow  
>  dry my eyes so you won't know  
>  dry my eyes so i won't show  
>  i know you're right behind me
> 
> and don't you let me go, let me go tonight  
>  don't you let me go, let me go tonight  
>  don't you let me go, let me go tonight  
>  don't you let me go, let me go tonight  
>  don't you let me go, let me go tonight  
>  don't you let me go, let me go tonight  
> \- Tonight by Lykke li

Victor woke up in the dead of night. He felt his body unwilling to go back to sleep. He cursed under his breath as he grudgingly got up. He had really hoped to get some sleep tonight, but that didn't look like it was going to happen any time soon. So he got up, and headed for the kitchen.  
  
He was about to turn the light on when he noticed the shadows move. He jumped back as his heart began racing. It took him a minute to recognize it was Sherlock, and another minute to notice the gleam of a bottle in front of the man; he was drinking.  
  
"Sherlock, what... Why the hell are you awake?" Victor rubbed his eyes "and why the hell are you drinking? It is two in the morning Sherlock" Victor snatched the bottle, and the glass, away.  
  
"Does it matter?" Sherlock's eyes looked glassy "give it back."  
  
"No. Now answer the question."  
  
"It dulls the voices... The pain. Better than doing drugs... Mycroft should be proud of me. It's so easy to get a hold of something here, yet I haven't bought anything" He swayed slightly. Victor had a bit of a hard time understanding Sherlock's words, as he kept slurring the endings "Still not good enough for John though."  
  
"You don't have to answer if you don't want to but... Who's John?"  
  
"He's... Was... My best friend... Best man I ever knew. He's patient, kind, and loyal." Sherlock smiled as his eyes saw a man that was not there "saved my life"  
  
"What happened?"  
  
Sherlock's eyes turned sad, and his face hardened "I pretended to be dead for two years. It was necessary... He had to be safe. But, I hurt him" he grimaced "He moved on though, met a woman named Mary."  
  
"Was he... Upset when you saw him again" sherlock nodded "did he... You know, forgive you?"  
  
"Yes, he did." His eyes seemed distant, as if he was only partly there "He asked me to be his best man."  
  
Victor grimaced at the mental image. He could imagine how hard it must have been for Sherlock, or anyone really, to see the love of his life, which John clearly was, marry someone else... And having front row seats probably made it ten times worse. Had this guy known Sherlock loved him, or had Sherlock kept that information hidden? Victor couldn't tell  
  
"I'm sorry. You're probably still a bit hurt... And angry"  
  
"I was angry at first, but I couldn't stay angry. How could I? He left me. It was probably the wisest choice he's made in a long time. Who would want to be stuck with the freak? No... He's better off with a woman that can make him happy" He had a sad smile on his face  
  
Victor felt his eyes sting. Did Sherlock really think so little of himself?  
  
"Sherlock look at me. You can't think like that. You're a brilliant man. Yes, you can be a right piece of work, but you are worthy of love. I'm sure that your... friend knew that, especially if he met you before you had a filter. I am sure he still cares" Victor wiped away a single tear that had escaped Sherlock's eye "C'mon you need to sleep"  
  
He took Sherlock by the hand, and dragged him into his room. Sherlock looked like he was going to break, and Victor didn't have the heart to leave him alone. He got Sherlock into bed, and slid in right next to him. He pulled Sherlock into a tight embrace, as if trying to hold Sherlock together. He began rubbing Sherlock's back in small circular patterns.  
  
Sherlock wasn't sure what was happening at first. It took him more than a few minutes to realize that Victor was holding him. Sherlock wasn't sure what the purpose was at first, until it dawned on him; _Victor was comforting him_.  
  
It felt... Nice. It was soothing to know he could let go, because there was somebody there to hold the pieces together. It was comforting to have someone muffle the voices by squeezing him tight. It was a miracle to be able to relax, and just let the warmth of another human being entrap his senses.  
  
His mind was soon calm enough, and he was, finally, able to rest for a few, delicious hours.  
\-----------------------------------------------  
Victor was back in Sherlock's room the next night. He had realized Sherlock had been able to peacefully sleep last night. Sherlock was a bit surprised when he saw Victor come into the room, but he was also relieved. When Victor wrapped his arms around Sherlock's slim, but toned, waist, Sherlock said nothing. He just pressed himself against Victor and breathed in. Victor smelled like lavender and oak ; it was an earthy, calming, scent that Sherlock immediately liked. Sherlock returned the hug and buried his face in the crook of Victor's neck; Victor said nothing.  
  
This sleeping arrangement became a comfortable routine by the end of the week. Neither man said anything.  
  
Victor had always been very comfortable with physical contact. He was also very subtle about it too, so Sherlock didn't feel this transition to be something weird. It was just a new dynamic in their friendship, or that is what they said to themselves.  
  
The physical contact soon snaked out of the bedroom and into their daily lives. They were small changes, but people began to notice.  
  
They would be walking on a train station, and Victor would guide Sherlock with his hand on the small of the man's back.  
  
They would be eating dinner at a restaurant, and Sherlock would unconsciously reach for Victor's hand.  
  
They would be watching TV, and Sherlock would rest his head on Victor's chest as he blabbed about how bad a particular show was. Victor would give him an indulgent smile as he caressed the detective's curls.    
  
Victor would take Sherlock's hand, or squeeze his arm, or softly caress his face, when the detective began retreating into his mind.  
  
All these changes became natural, and fluid. Of course, soon enough people began assuming that they were together. Victor never corrected them. He honestly didn't care what people thought. Besides, he saw it as a compliment. It was very flattering to know people assumed he had been able to allure the great Sherlock Holmes.  
  
And, anyway, as long as they both knew what they were to each other, it was all fine.  
\-----------------------------------------------  
  
"Hmmm" moaned Mycroft as he closed his eyes  
  
Greg smiled appreciatively, as he leaned back on his chair "enjoying it?"  
  
Mycroft gave him a flirtatious smile "of corse I am, it is absolutely mouthwatering"   
  
"I'm glad you like it"  
  
"Where on earth did you learn how to bake?"  
  
"Well, my wife wanted to take a culinary class, and I went along with it. I picked up a few tricks"  
  
"Oh you most certainly did" Mycroft said as he savored the chocolate cake  
  
"Mycroft there is something we have to talk about"  
  
Mycroft immediately stiffened "please don't tell me you want to talk about-"  
  
"Yes"  
  
Mycroft sighed "No. You already know my opinion on the matter. It is best if John doesn't contact Sherlock"  
  
Yes, Lestrade knew Mycroft's opinion very well. He didn't believe Sherlock could handle seeing John. Lestrade, on the other hand, had hope. He knew John cared immensely about Sherlock, and that he needed the detective just as much as the detective needed him. Victor might be helpful right now, but Lestrade wasn't sure if he would be enough in the long run. He was keeping Sherlock from bleeding out, but could he close the wounds?  
  
"Why don't we make a deal" said Lestrade as he shifted closer to Mycroft. He was close enough to feel the warmth emanating from Mycroft's body. "Let's talk to John first, and explain the situation"  
  
"Don't think I don't know what you are doing"  
  
"But I'm not doing anything" said Greg innocently  
  
"You are trying to distract me" Mycroft lunged forward, pinning Greg down "It is not going to work today, Gregory"  The way Mycroft said his name immediately stirred his groin; Mycroft noticed. "But, I will comply this time. We will talk to John and, depending on his reaction, _I_ will decide whether or not he gets to see Sherlock again"  
  
Greg was unable to argue, given that Mycroft had begun palming him through his jeans "fine... Fine. Whatever you want My, just, please...."  
  
"Hmmm, so needy" purred Mycroft as he assaulted Greg's mouth 


	17. Chapter 17

Lestrade invited John over to talk about Sherlock one afternoon. He had also called Mycroft, and warned him that he had to come. Mycroft was less than happy about this, but it was Gregory that was asking, so he couldn't exactly refuse.  
  
Mycroft arrived before John. He entered Greg's flat  like he owned the place. Well, to be fair, he had been spending a lot of his free time there.  
  
"Good evening, Gregory" he said with a small smile as he moved to kiss his lover.  
  
"Hey" said Lestrade in between kisses. The doorbell rang, and Mycroft stiffened "be nice, Mycroft" Lestrade opened the door to allow one weary looking John Watson.  
  
"Hey, Mate"  
  
"Hello Greg" John said tiredly " Mycroft"  
  
"Dr. Watson" his tone was impassive, and his body revealed nothing; however, the air was filled with unspoken things. Lestrade was starting to regret his decision.  
  
"So where is he? Where is Sherlock?" Said John staring intently at Mycroft. He had been waiting over a month for that goddamn answer.  
  
"He's not in London"  
  
"Yes, I realize, but that was not my question"  
  
"No, it wasn't. But that is all I'm willing to tell you at the moment"  
  
John breathed in, trying to control his rising anger "why would you ask me to come if you weren't willing to-"  
  
"All your questions shall be answered by the end of this... Meeting, but there are a few things I want to discuss before I give you such a sensitive piece of information"  
  
John was getting more and more annoyed by the second. Why did Mycroft have to make everything so complicated? John needed to know if Sherlock was fine. The guilt had been eating him alive for more than a month now, and he couldn't deal with it anymore. He needed to apologize. He needed to see Sherlock smile that smile he especially reserved for him. He needed to know that Sherlock was fine.  
  
"Tell me, doctor, did Sherlock ever mention what he was doing during his two years away? Did he give you any details?"  
  
"He said he was dismantling Moriarty's web... We never really talked about it, why?"  
  
"Did you know that he had to kill people, and that he was repeatedly tortured in Eastern Europe" Mycroft's tone was accusatory  
  
"No, I-"  
  
"They took him several times. You've been at war doctor. You probably know about the usual torture methods. Of course, from time to time, his enemies got creative" he pulled out the pictures he had once shown Lestrade, and gave them to John. "He was still healing when he went to meet you"  
  
John felt as if somebody had punched the air out of his lungs. The pictures were sadistically disturbing. John couldn't understand how Sherlock had gone through that. Why had he gone through that?  
  
 _To protect you_ said a small voice in his head  
  
He felt a wave of regret, and shame, slap him across the face. Sherlock had gone through unspeakable trials for him, and how had John received him? With anger and more violence.  
  
John had been so concentrated on his own feelings of being wronged, that he had forgotten about his friends feelings and pains. Hell, he hadn't even asked him if he was alright.  
  
"Once he came back, he started suffering from PTSD, but you didn't realize, did you? It was mild at first, but by the time you got married...well, let's just say it wasn't nice." Mycroft's eyes were cold, and hard "not to mention the emotional turmoil your marriage provid-"  
  
"What emotional turmoil? He was fine with me getting married. He likes Mary. He helped us plan the weeding!" Said John, defensive  
  
"Are you really that blind, Doctor Watson, or is it just that you don't want to see the truth?"  
  
John got up, unable to control himself any longer. He needed to vent in some way, and punching Mycroft seemed like the best way to release some anger. Lestrade stopped John by placing a hand on John's shoulder and forced him to sit back down.  
  
"Don't be dumb John. You'll regret it later" Lestrade said as he gave Mycroft a warning glance" look, John, You have to open your mind, and your eyes, here. Sherlock has changed a lot over the last couple of years. He changed because of you. You made him more... Human. You know a lot of people used to assume you guys were together, right?" John nodded stiffly "well, on your wedding day... A lot of the people thought that Sherlock was in love with you."  
  
"What? Greg that makes no-" Greg raised his hand to stop John  
  
"Look mate... His speech sounded an awful lot like a love letter. Even people that don't know him thought that. And the music he composed along with the vow... Really, him leaving early was just a confirmation to everyone's suspicions."   
  
"Ok, look, that's ridiculous! People are always assuming things! I am married to a wo-"  
  
"You do of course realize you being married has nothing to do with what we are talking about."  
  
"Yes, I get that, Mycroft, but he's not g-"  
  
Mycroft got up, fury flashing through his eyes "Oh hell, how thick can you be? I know my brother better than anyone John. He was ready to die for you, he killed to keep you safe, he was tortured to keep you safe. He relapsed after you got married, because he couldn't deal with his emotions!" Screamed Mycroft; his usual calm demeanor was nowhere to be found. John had never thought Mycroft could actually look intimidating; he had been wrong.  
  
But the one thing that had struck John was the last thing Mycroft had said; Sherlock had relapsed because of _him_. Could it really be? Was Sherlock really.... In love with him? That was impossible.... Wasn't it? He felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head.  
  
Mycroft rubbed his eyes tiredly "I have better things to do. If you are able to come to terms with this information, Doctor Watson, you can contact me. If you can't handle Sherlock being in love with you, then I suggest you stop trying to find him, because I will make sure you never see him again. Good Afternoon" Mycroft began to move towards the door, but Greg stopped him.  
  
Greg knew deep down, John was also in love with Sherlock, but he was in some heavy denial. Perhaps, if he could see that indeed it was _all fine_ , he would be able to accept his own truth. Greg brought Mycroft in for a kiss before Mycroft could realize what was happening. He sucked on Mycroft's lower lip, making his lover shiver with pleasure.  
  
"Have a lovely afternoon, love" breathed Greg, as he let go of Mycroft. The man looked a bit dazed."I'll see you tonight" called out Greg as Mycroft moved to open the door. Greg smiled as Mycroft blushed deeply.  
  
John was agape. He had never expected Greg and Mycroft to... Hell, he had never expected Mycroft to be with anyone, period. But they looked so... Happy. He felt his heart ache, and he had no idea why.  
  
But this development seemed insignificant, compared to the jaw dropping news he had received today; _Sherlock Holmes was in love with_ _him_.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Next chapter is going to be a long one(yay!). I should have it up soon


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took so long. I've been very busy. I'll try to update as soon as possible

_Sherlock. Love. Love. Sherlock. Me... What?. No. Love. Sherlock. Love. Sherlock. Sherlock._  
  
John felt numb. His mind did not seem to be able to for. A single coherent thought.  
  
Was it true? Was Sherlock really... In love with him? Was Mycroft right, was he really in denial? Perhaps he was. After all, he wasn't gay... Right?  
  
 _Well you don't have to be gay to be attracted to a man, now do you?_  
  
A small thread of doubt started creeping into his thoughts. He had never over analyzed his relationship with Sherlock, but that was because it was as easy as breathing. As constant as a heartbeat. As strong as steel. As precious as a diamond.  
  
But, perhaps, it was time to take a closer look. Sherlock had entered his life in a blur. He had swept John away with his brilliance and charm. He had saved John, by bringing meaning back into his life. It had been so hard after the war, and Sherlock had made it better. Sherlock had silently understood. Sherlock had silently supported him with his dangerous cases, and eccentricities.  
  
And John, in turn, had helped Sherlock get rid of his I'm-a-high-functioning-sociopath motto. He had cared for Sherlock, and had lifted him up with love and praise. They had become, at one point, quite co-dependent, and he hadn't even realized.  
  
There was a reason none of his girlfriends had lasted; none of them were Sherlock. They could be charming, but Sherlock's allure had always been stronger. He had always thought of himself as straight, but maybe it was time to... _Tweak_ his terminology. It wasn't like he found guys attractive, apart from Sherlock.  
  
But to be fair, those blue eyes, along with those cheekbones, could bewitch anyone. Yes, he had been bewitched by Sherlock since the beginning, but he had never accepted it. He had repressed any type of romantic, or sexual, thought he might have had about Sherlock, because he had been afraid.  
  
But then, Sherlock had "died", and he had spiraled back to his depressive old self. And that is when he had met Mary. She had gotten him out of that black hole; she had given him hope. Perhaps it was the repressed emotions, or his way of coping, but he had immediately fallen in love with her. He had been actually happy... But then Sherlock had come back.  
  
He had thought that he could keep both his wife and his best friend. But he should have known, it was never that easy. He had slowly started to let go of Mary, even if he had fought hard for that not to happen. She had never been what he truly wanted, but rather the perfect replacement. A vital piece in his perfect lie, but the curtain had been raised, and the truth was out.  
  
God, john had been so stupid. He had been blind, and now he was paying the price. He knew he couldn't continue his relationship with Mary. It wasn't fair to her, or to himself, to keep living a lie. He knew he was going to hurt her immensely, but he couldn't see a way around it.  
  
God, he had been a terrible husband... A terrible friend. But it was time to fix things.  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------  
It had been a week since he had talked to Lestrade. John was still trying to process it all. He also wanted to be sure that he actually loved Sherlock _that_ way. Everytime he thought about it, he felt more and more convinced that he did, he just hadn't wanted to admit it to himself. He wanted to get things straight with Mary, before running off to find Sherlock though. She deserved as much. Hell, she deserved better. She deserved someone that wasn't in love with their old flat mate. He still wasn't sure what to tell Mary. How would she react? Oh, he felt awful.

He opened the door quietly. It had been a long day at the hospital, and he was also weary for what was to come.  
  
It was time to talk to Mary  
  
"Hello love" she said coming out of the kitchen "how was work?"  
  
"Fine"  
  
she immediately sensed something was wrong, and frowned "is everything alright, John? What happened, does it have something to do with Sherlock?"  
  
John winced. She knew him too well. "Mary... I need to talk to you" her face fell "could you sit?"  
  
A sense of dread filled Mary as she looked into John's eyes. There was a sad, but firm, resolution that sent chills down her spine.  
  
"I don't know how to.... I.... You have been so good to me Mary, and I-"  
  
"Please tell me this is not what I think it is" John didn't answer "Oh God... It is, isn't it?" Her voice cracked as she stumbled backwards  
  
"I am so sorry Mary. I really am" whispered John "I just can't do this to you, or to myself-"  
  
"This is because of Sherlock isn't it?" John remained silent "why John? Why would you this to me, if you knew you didn't love _me_?"  
  
"Of course I love you Mary. You have done so much for me.... You were perfect for me"  
  
"No, Sherlock is perfect for you. I was just the next best thing" said Mary bitterly  
  
John didn't know how to answer to that. What was he supposed to say? _Yeah, you were. Sorry_. There was no denying the truth, not anymore. Mary waited for a few seconds, but when it became clear John was at a loss, she spun around and stormed out of the room. John quickly followed.  
  
Mary took out a bag, and yanked the closet door open. She started to furiously shove clothes inside. She wouldn't look at John.  
  
"Mary, what are you doing?" Said John, who was standing near the bedroom's door.  
  
"What does it look like I'm doing?" She snapped  
  
"No, no, stop" said John as he snatched the bag from her hands. She looked murderous "Mary, it's late, and this is your apartment. If anyone is bloody leaving, is me"  
  
Mary turned around to face the window" fine. Get out." She refused to break down in front of him.  
  
"Mary..." John began walking closer  
  
"Please just leave, John"  
  
John swallowed. He felt like the biggest asshole in the world. He probably was, right now. He quickly packed a few of his belongings, and left. Mary only allowed herself to cry once she hear the door the door snap shut.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------  
John arrived at Baker Street an hour later. He felt very tired, and depressed. He had royally fucked up this time. He had single handedly managed to break the hearts of the two people he cared for most in the world.  
  
He softly knocked, and Mrs. Hudson promptly opened the door.  
  
"John" she said confused " what are you doing here at this hour?"  
  
"Hello Mrs. Hudson, would you mind if I came in?"  
  
"No, no, come in dear." She said stepping aside. "What happened?"  
  
"Would it be possible for me to stay in the flat upstairs for a while?"  
  
"Where is Mary dear? Did you two had a little domestics?"  
  
"No, I... Well, we sort of... Ended our relationship"  
  
Mrs. Hudson gave him a sympathetic look "Well perhaps it's for the best. I remember when I was married-"  
  
"I'd rather not talk about it Mrs. Hudson, at least not tonight."  
  
Mrs. Hudson nodded "Of course, dear" she began climbing the stairs. She opened the door to Sherlock's -to their- flat, and left to bring him some tea. When she came back, he was standing stock still in the middle of the living room.  
  
"What's the matter, dear?"  
  
"The room is... Where are all of Sherlock's things?"  
  
"Mycroft sent them to a storage room, since Sherlock doesn't live here anymore"  
  
John swallowed loudly. He wasn't sure why such a sight was affecting him so much. The living room was clean of all unnecessary clutter, making it look welcoming and spacious. There wasn't a single chemical, or hazardous object, in sight. Wasn't this what he had always wanted, to have the apartment in a decent condition? Wasn't he always asking Sherlock to clean the apartment?  
   
But, the truth was that, seeing the apartment like this, so clean and _peaceful_ , felt like an insult to the memories of the man that had lived here. John couldn't stand it. He needed Sherlock back. He had never imagined he would miss the chemicals and body parts on the fridge. He missed the perfect chaos that the detective seemed to create wherever he went.  
   
He soon went back to his old room, since the living room was just too quiet and empty for his taste.  
  
Hopefully he'd be able to talk to Mycroft soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we are going back to New York ;)


	19. Chapter 19

Victor knew Sherlock missed London terribly. He hated seeing Sherlock sad, especially when he was upset about things Victor could easily fix. In truth, Victor still didn't understand why he had come to care so much about the man that was currently asleep in his arms. He, deep down, knew that he was falling for Sherlock, but he refused to accept it. He was afraid of the consequences. He knew Sherlock loved him too, but the man was still bleeding due to his last near-romantic experience. He knew how fragile Sherlock's heart was at the moment, and it frustrated him to know he could no nothing about it.

Of course, he didn't realize how much he was doing already. He was the one keeping Sherlock's mind relatively sane.

He had finally heard the whole story. He knew of the adventures of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, their tragic separation, and Sherlock's two years away. In the process he had also realized that Sherlock was suffering from PTSD, even if Sherlock wouldn't admit it.

He had seen Sherlock's scars. He could still remember the shock he felt the first time he saw them. They were rugged and long; they were truly horrifying. They were all over his back, and a few on his legs. Sherlock had allowed him to touch them. He remembered that that night he had held Sherlock tighter than usual.

Victor had _extensively_ researched PTSD. Most webpages said to encourage the person to seek help, but that would be a waste of time with Sherlock. He would never admit he needed help, and he'd just refuse to go to a doctor. It also said to be comprehensive and supportive, which Victor was. It said to offer distractions, to take him/her to the movies, to a restaurant; anything that would help him/her them settle back into his/her life. Victor realized that most of these tips were meant for couples, but he honestly didn't give a damn. He would take Sherlock to every single movie theater in New York if it meant helping him. But of course, he knew that the best way to distract Sherlock was by giving him cases.

And so, Victor made him take double the amount of work, which Sherlock enjoyed, and would generally go with him at night. The only times he wouldn't help Sherlock were when he had too much work, or it was a confidential federal investigation that Victor wasn't allowed to know about. Of course, Sherlock would always end up telling him everything once he got home, for he loved sharing his adventures with Victor. Thankfully, Victor was a very discreet man, and he always feigned ignorance when Sherlock's boss was around. I the chief realized, he didn't say anything.

Victor also made Sherlock help him with his work. Sherlock excelled at finance, which shouldn't have been surprising for Victor. Sherlock had explained that his mother had been a mathematician, and so anything number related was like a second nature to him. He truly lessened Victor's workload, which in turn allowed Victor to spend more time chasing around the mad detective.

He would take him out to eat, or just for midnight walks. He would take Sherlock to see the different philharmonic orchestras that would play at Lincoln Center. He would show Sherlock the pretty touristic attractions and the deeper, darker, sides of the city. Sometimes, on the weekends, he would take Sherlock to Long Island City where they would walk along the boardwalk, and Sherlock would tell Victor the life story of anyone who passed by. Sherlock also began deducing the different ingredients Victor used when cooking. Indeed, Sherlock was seldom bored nowadays.

Victor, however, knew that Sherlock needed to, at least, visit London. He was a London creature, and he needed to go back to his natural habitat for a little while.

"So, I've been thinking." Said Victor, waking Sherlock from his slumber.

"Hmm, impressive. Was it hard to manage such a feat?" Said a still half asleep Sherlock. Victor smiled and playfully smacked Sherlock's arm

"smart ass" Sherlock chuckled softly "I was thinking that you, well we, should go to London"

Sherlock's body tensed "why would you want to go to London?"

"I feel like visiting" Sherlock shook Victor's arms off, and pushed himself up.

"Don't lie to me, Victor. You know it doesn't work"

"Fine. I think it would be a good idea for us to visit. You miss it, and... No don't try to deny it" said Victor before Sherlock could interrupt " and I'm sure your brother will want to-"

"Don't get my brother involved"

"Why not? He wants to see you. You want to go back. I'm not saying you have to stay with-"

"That's not the point" Sherlock looked away

"Then what?" Victor held Sherlock's head in his hands, and looked into the other man's eyes. Abruptly he let go, and rubbed his eyes tiredly, suppressing a sigh "if this is about John..."

"Victor-"

"No, Sherlock! You have to think about yourself too! London is a big city. You are not going to see him. You and I are going to London for a week. We are going to visit your brother, and I want to meet that DI you mentioned. We won't go anywhere John usually goes to, okay?"

Sherlock remained quiet for a few minutes, twirling the idea in his head. He certainly wanted to visit. He needed to breathe in the London air again. He needed to feel closer to John, even if he couldn't -wouldn't- see the man. He had made a promise to himself not to interfere with John's live anymore. But, honestly, what were the chances of seeing him there?

"Fine"

"Good. We leave in two days, so you better pack tomorrow." Sherlock looked startled "i already bought the plain tickets, and talked to your boss."

"When the hell did you get the tickets? And what if I said no?"

Victor smiled "well, for one, once you fall asleep, you sleep like the dead. And I knew you wanted to go" Victor pulled Sherlock back down, wrapping his arms around the man's waist "now go back to sleep"

Sherlock smiled softly. This man had proved, time and again, that he could manipulate Sherlock into doing almost anything. But, in truth, Sherlock was rather glad he was going back home at least for a little while. He turned around to face Victor.

"Thank you" he whispered as he kissed Victor's cheek

Victor gulped, as he suppressed the sudden desire to grab Sherlock and kiss those lips that had brushed his cheek. "Goodnight Sherlock"

"Hmmm" Sherlock moved closer, burying his head in the crook of Victor's neck. Victor stiffened, but said nothing. That was, after all, how they usually slept. Victor screwed his eyes shut, and willed his arousal away. Perhaps it was time to change their sleeping arrangements... He really couldn't imagine himself doing that.

Perhaps London's fresh air would help him get over his growing infatuation with Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!  
> Let me know what you think on the comments section ;)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO INCREDIBLY SORRY I HAVEN'T UPDATED IN SO LONG.
> 
> I have been really busy. Thank you for sticking with me!! Also, Thank you for all the lovely comments!

Mycroft woke up with a start. Generally, he would wake up before the sun was fully up, but last night had been... _Eventful_ , Greg had come around eight o'clock, bringing with him a bottle of wine and dark chocolate.

After a few glasses of wine, and a few seductively eaten chocolates, things had escalated quickly. He was sure his staff would demand an explanation after they saw the state in which he and his lover had left the kitchen... And his study.... And the living room.

Mycroft was debating whether to get up and risk waking Gregory, who had fallen asleep while cuddling Mycroft, or just stay there and enjoy the delicious warmth his lover's body provided. In the end, a knock at the door made the decision for him.

He got up, startling his lover, and put on his silky black robe.

"Where are you going?" Said Greg sleepily

"There is someone at the door. Go back to sleep, dear" Mycroft kissed him softly, before leaving the room

Mycroft was surprised to find John at his doorstep. "Dr. Watson"

"Mycroft" he said with a nod " May I come in?"

"Of course. May I ask why are you here?"

"I need to know where Sherlock is"

Mycroft guides him to the living room "have you thought about-"

"Yes. I ended my relationship with Mary" Mycroft's brows shot up in surprise "so please, _tell me_ "

"He... He's been living in-" Mycroft stopped abruptly as he heard the door open. There was only one person, apart from the man that was currently sleeping on his bed, that had a spare key.

"Good Morning, Myc-" Sherlock, who had just walked into the living room, stopped abruptly, and froze. "John" he swallowed "what.... Um... Why are you... Here?"

Victor walked into the room, before John could answer. He, of course, knew Mycroft, but he had no idea who the man in the beige jumper was. He could see Sherlock's tense body from the corner of his eye. He could see the clear signs that Sherlock's mind was ready to retreat into itself. Victor moved closer on instinct.

"Sherlock" he whispered as he grasped Sherlock's hand "are you ok?"

Sherlock looked at him with panicked eyes "I-"

 

Victor began caressing Sherlock's cheek "Hey, look at me. Stop that. Focus on me and breathe. Everything is fine"

Sherlock's body immediately began to relax. His mind, however, was racing. John was here. Why was he here? Had something happened? He shouldn't be seeing John, because the pain of him leaving again would be too much.

No, no, he would be fine. He had Victor to keep him in check. But Victor shouldn't be seeing John. John shouldn't be seeing Victor.

His past and his present were colliding together, making Sherlock's head swirl in the process. He didn't want his precious memories with John to be tainted by Victor, and he didn't want his new life with Victor to be tainted by, or exposed to, John.

John's eyes flared as he watched the stranger touch Sherlock. He felt a rush of anger and jealousy as he realized that Sherlock wasn't brushing the man off, but was instead welcoming the touch, leaning into it even. He felt a need to punch the newcomer. How dare he touch his Sherlock? And why was Sherlock allowing this complete stranger to touch him so intimately?

John cleared his throat loudly "who are you?" If he came off a bit ruder than intended, he didn't care.

Victor studied him for a few seconds. His eyes turned cold. "My name is Victor Trevor. It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Watson. I've heard a lot about you"

"Have you?" John smiled coldly

"Oh, yes. I've heard of your time at Baker Street"

John turned to Sherlock "could I talk to you... In private?"

Sherlock seemed both surprised and uncomfortable. He didn't know why John wanted to talk to him, and he sure as hell didn't know what to tell Victor. Victor, on the other hand, knew exactly what John wanted to say. He also knew exactly what Sherlock's answer was going to be.

He gave Sherlock a sad smile and squeezed his arm softly "I'll... See you later, Sherlock"

Mycroft could see Victor didn't mean that at all. He followed Victor outside. "Victor-"

"I'm fine"

"No, you are not"

Victor turned to look at Mycroft. "No, I'm not... But I will be"

Mycroft's eyes turned sad. "I... Thank you, for keeping my brother safe, for keeping him sane.... For loving him"

"You don't need to thank me"

"Oh, but I do. You did my job for me. You kept my brother happy." They were silent for a moment. "He does love you, you know?"

"John was there first, and he misses him. I'll never make him choose, Mycroft. I want him to be happy"

"You sound just like him, when John was getting married"

Victor smiled brokenly "Well, I guess we're both two masochistic fools who fell in love"

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll stay for a week, and then I'm going back"

"Are you planning on-"

"Talking to him again? Probably not. I don't want him to feel bad, or make him feel like he owes me something. Just... Tell him my ex contacted me" Victor wouldn't look at Mycroft. He smirked tightly "I've heard the stories. They've been dancing around each other for years. It's time they figured it out. Who am I to stop them?"

Mycroft was at a loss for words. Victor walked down the steps "wait, let me get you a car"

"No, I'll walk. I need... Some air"

Mycroft nodded "I'll have a room booked for you. Your things will be there in a few hours. I'll text you the address" Victor began walking away "Victor" called out Mycroft "if you ever need anything..."

Victor smiled "Goodbye, Mr. Holmes"

Mycroft stared as the man walked away. He knew Victor needed some alone time to figure himself out, and even more time to heal.

\-----------------------------------------------------

"So...where have you been living?"

"New York" said Sherlock, as he sat down.

"Is that where you met him?"

"Yes"

"Are you guys-"

"Um...No" said Sherlock, although _it's complicated_ would have been a more accurate description of his relationship with Victor

"Good" John gave him a small smile

"Why are you here, John?"

"I needed to see you. I couldn't.... I just needed to see you" John sat down close to Sherlock "I am so sorry, Sherlock. I'm sorry for not realizing that you were hurt. I'm sorry for not being there for you I-" John closed his eyes and swallowed "you were gone for two years" his voice cracked and he had to pause. John was trying his best not to sound accusatory. He understood the why now, but that didn't take away the pain, the two years of mourning, the sleepless nights, the one too many drinks, the suicidal thoughts....

Sherlock noticed when John began retreating into his mind, and so slightly brushed his hand. It seemed to snap John out of it. "I thought you were dead Sherlock, and... I couldn't handle it. I tried to move on, but you were always there, in my head. I guess... I wasn't ready to trust you when you came back" he sighed "but that is no excuse. I will never be able to excuse the pain that I caused-"

"Stop" whispered Sherlock "you don't have to apologize. John... You did so much for me. You made me better John, in every way. I hurt you, in ways I still don't fully comprehend. I deserved your rage. John I don't deserve your apologies- no don't interrupt me. John I'm a complicated man, whom you are better off without. Honestly, it's fine... Just, be happy with Mary" said Sherlock standing up

John yanked Sherlock back down "that's what you don't get. I can'g be happy with Mary, because she's not you. It took me a while to see that, but it's you that I need, that I want." He caressed Sherlock's cheek "when I met you, my world stopped spinning out of orbit. You made me feel so right, so alive. You taught me how to live again, but you didn't teach me how to live without you"

Sherlock sat frozen. He seemed to be so confused. "Me?"

"Always you, Sherlock" John closed the distance between them and softly kissed Sherlock. Sherlock gasped in surprise, but soon returned the kiss. He felt as if his body was on fire. Every nerve in his body seemed to be awake. He was kissing John. Oh, god... He was _kissing_ John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do not worry, this is most certainly not the last you'll see of Victor.  
> comments are always appreciated


	21. Chapter 21

How they managed to get to Baker Street without ripping each other's clothes off was a mystery to Sherlock. They stumbled through the door, as John blindly unbuttoned Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock felt the air being sucked out of his lungs as his back hit the bedroom door.

The room was dark,and inviting. Sherlock hadn't expected his day to go like this. He and John had gone to Angelo's to celebrate their little reunion, before coming to Baker Street. They had talked about their lives, before the fall. Neither one of them was ready to talk about those two years. They both knew they'd eventually have to have that conversation, but for tonight they just wanted to enjoy the moment.

Sherlock kissed John's lips softly, lovingly, before moving down his neck. He unbuttoned John's shirt, and John shrugged out of it, before bringing his hands up to feel Sherlock's curls. He purred in delight, as Sherlock melted under his touch. Eventually, Sherlock pulled away and John whined in complain. Sherlock ignored him, as he began tracing John's scar with the tip of his fingers. John gasped. He never allowed anyone to touch his scar, but this was Sherlock. Sherlock seemed to be entranced by the scar. He slowly lowered himself and seductively licked it. John shivered as a small moan escaped his lips. No one had ever reacted like this when seeing his scar. His partners generally tried to ignore it, but Sherlock... Sherlock treated it as a part of John that deserved just as much love and reverence.

John began trailing his hands down Sherlock's back, but he suddenly stopped as he felt the ragged scars. Sherlock noticed John's tense body, and pulled away to look at him. He immediately realized what the problem had been

"It's fine" whispered Sherlock as he picked up his shirt. John grabbed Sherlock's wrist, stopping him.

"Let me see" he whispered softly

"They are not... Nice" Sherlock looked away. There were only two people, apart from the doctors, that had seen his scars; Mycroft and Victor. Mycroft had seen them at their worst; while they were still fresh, and bleeding. Victor had seen them by accident. Well, since they slept in the same room, it had been bound to happen. He had allowed Victor to touch them, and fuss over them. Neither one of them had judged him. In fact, they both had tried to help him, to the best of their abilities. But it was different with John, because they hadn't felt guilty while John did. John would feel responsible for every single one of his scars. It would also mean revealing his own weakness, which he hated.

"It's ok if you don't want to"

Sherlock breathed in. "No... I... You can see them" he gave John a small smile. He loved this man, and he was sure he wouldn't mock him. Sherlock sat down, facing away from John so that he could see his back.

John knelt on the bed. His hands shook as he traced Sherlock's back. There were so many marks and scars. Some looked older than others; some were long and ragged, while others where short and thin. John felt his eyes burn as he rested his forehead on Sherlock's back.

"I am so sorry Sherlock. I should have been there... I should have protected you... Hell, I should have asked" He whispered.

Sherlock abruptly turned around "John we don't have to do this"

"Oh, but we do. We eventually have to talk about it, about us. We... We need to fix this"

"But not tonight... For tonight can we just... Not?" He didn't want this night to be spoiled by a painful, yet much needed, conversation.

John didn't want to push Sherlock and so he nodded. Tonight he just wanted Sherlock to stop thinking and enjoy the moment. Tonight he wanted to erase the painful memories, and replace them with... Pleasurable ones. He wanted to remove those scars with his lips, with his tongue. He wanted to make Sherlock scream out in pleasure, and not in pain. He wanted to see Sherlock come undone under his touch. Tonight, he wanted to lay his claim on Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock, who knew what John was thinking licked his lips and whispered in his ear "Ruin me, John Watson"

John's breath shuddered at those words, and he turned to kiss Sherlock. The kiss started out slow, but it soon turned wild as a desperate need to ravage each other's mouths took over. John soon pinned Sherlock down, as he unbuttoned his trousers. Sherlock began to pull down John's trouser, but stopped short as John teasingly licked his nipple.

"Ah, John!"

John chuckled "sensitive are we?" He said breathlessly

Sherlock was unable to answer, as John immediately began working on his other nipple. John felt a rush of excitement and untamed lust as he felt Sherlock's erection press against his thigh.

Sherlock began to panic, as he felt himself lose the reigns of his tight self control. He felt his gut clench, as his brain catalogued every lick, every caress, every moan that John uttered. He knew that this would change his very core, and he couldn't help but feeling afraid.

"It's ok love, I've got you"

Sherlock took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. This was John. He trusted this man. He loved this man. He knew that this had the potential to destroy him, but damn the consequences. He needed this. He needed John

\--------------------------------------------------

Mary got out of bed and put on a jumper. She had been trying to fall asleep for the last three hours to no avail. She missed John. She left her flat silently, and began walking aimlessly through the dimly lit streets.

What was she supposed to do? It was _her_ husband, and now Sherlock had taken him away. It wasn't fair.

She loved John. She was good for John. Sherlock had had his chance, and he had fucked up. So why did he have to rob her of her chance? She hadn't taken John away from him. Sherlock had broken her husband's heart, and _she_ had been there to pull him back together.

How dare he come back and claim. John, when she had invested her heart, and her time, in John? No, she would _not_ allow that. She would not lose her husband to Sherlock bloody Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is my first attempt at a pseudo-smutty scene, so be gentle with me. (An actual one is coming soon...) I hope you like it!


	22. Chapter 22

John woke up alone. He rolled over and stretched, wondering where Sherlock might have run off to. He found a small note waiting for him on Sherlock's night stand.

_Went to the store. We were out of milk. I'll be back soon- SH_

John smiled to himself. So this is what it took to get Sherlock to go to the store. They had to do this more often then.

He got up, and quietly went to the bathroom. He sighed happily as the water hit his back. He closed his eyes as he enjoyed the cocoon of warmth the water provided. The noise, however, kept him from hearing the footsteps coming up the stairs, and the door opening and closing.

Mary came in expecting to find them both in the flat. However, the flat seemed to be deserted. That is, until she heard the sound of the water running. Her nostrils flared. Where they both in there? Where they wanking off in the shower? What would she find if she went into the bathroom?

No, there was no noise coming out of the bathroom. So there was probably only one of them in there. But which one?

She silently went into Sherlock's room, and was surprised to find no one there. She inched closer to the bed, and found Sherlock's note. She smirked coldly. So the bastard wasn't home after all. Well, then this would be easier than what she had thought. She went into the living room, and sat down to wait for John to come out.

John came out relaxed and happy. He was naked; the only thing covering his lower body was a white towel, which belonged to Sherlock.

"Hello, John" said Mary pleasantly

John felt his blood run cold as he stopped dead on his tracks. He whirled around to find his wife- ex wife- sitting comfortably on the couch "Mary? What.... What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you" she moved closer, and John stepped back. She smiled when she heard a small thud as John's back hit the wall.

"Um, would you just let me get dressed first?"

"Oh please, it's not like I haven't seen you naked before" She gave him a flirtatious smile as she came closer "I miss you" she whispered

John sighed and felt a pang of guilt "Mary..."

"No, I know. You want Sherlock" she sneered "However, I won't let Sherlock ruin my baby's life"

"What?"

"You heard me" she folded her arms protectively "I'm pregnant, John"

At those words, John felt his world spin out of orbit and crash. That was impossible. It just couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when there was finally a ray of sunshine in his horizon. Not when he had finally gotten Sherlock back. Oh god, Sherlock...

What was he supposed to do? If this was true, then he couldn't be with Sherlock. He couldn't be selfish with a baby _he_ had helped create. But what would Sherlock say? What would he do? It's not like they could go back to being friends, not after last night. Mary would never allow it, and he couldn't blame her for that.

He just couldn't bring a baby into a broken home. The baby deserved a family. If there really was a baby... He would forgo his happiness and go back to Mary. They both knew that.

"That's... That's impossible"

Mary wordlessly extracted a pregnancy test from her purse, and handed it to John. He looked at her with wide eyes "It's time to go back home John. We can just forget about this... Slip. Neither one of us will mention it again, and the baby can be happy. We can be happy. You and me, just like before" She was softly caressing his cheek. There was a desperation in her voice, and in her eyes, that made it impossible for John to move away. "We can go back home"

"Home... This is home, Mary... I-"

"So you'll ruin your child's life for your own selfish reasons?" John looked away. "You have to end this, John. It's time to face reality."

John chewed his lip. He seemed... Unsure"But what about Sherlock?"

"That is not really your problem, is it?" Said a deep baritone voice from behind them. Mary turned around to find the pale detective standing quietly in the shadows.

"Sherlock" John stepped forward, but stopped as Sherlock moved back

"Stay away from me, John. I think... It is time for both of you to _leave_ "

"No, don't do that Sherlock. Don't shut me out, please. Don't isolate yourself. "

"That's hardly your problem"

"It is my problem" growled John as he moved past Mary

"No, your baby is your problem" said Sherlock softly. John was silent. "We all know that you won't be able to live with yourself if that baby doesn't have it's father there"

"But I will be there"

"It will never be the same" interjected Mary. Sherlock clenched his jaw. "It's time we go home John. He's right." Sherlock fisted his hands

Sherlock grimaced as he retreated further back. He was thankful that the shadows hid most of his face. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to keep the mask in place. "It's... Ok, John. Think of this as a... Mistake."

Mary had silently slipped out of the living room to retrieve John's clothing. By the time Sherlock was done speaking, she was back, clothes in hand. Sherlock couldn't keep watching. John was obviously hurt by his attitude. He was obviously confused, and Sherlock couldn't blame him. It was obvious that a part of him, probably a big part, still loved Mary; a baby added to the mix just made matters worse.

Sherlock's hands shook slightly, as John finished dressing, and Mary slipped his wedding ring back on. He looked like a lost child.

"Have... A nice life, John" Sherlock said, before fleeing the flat.

The voices that had been dormant for weeks, were back. He could hear Moriarty's laughter, the sound of a gun going off, a man speaking in Russian, the sound of a whip tearing off skin. It was all to much. He couldn't breathe.

He soon found himself in a park. He had no idea how he had gotten there, but he didn't particularly care. He heard his phone chime, but he didn't pick it up. He just kept walking, with no destination.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking, when a black cared pulled at the curb. Mycroft came out, worry painted in every line of his face.

"Sherlock" he said coming closer. His voice sounded... Distant, as if he was at the end of a tunnel.

 _Sherlock... Sherlock... Sherlock...._ He could hear somebody singing his name. _Sherlock... Sherlock.... SHERLOCK._

Sherlock stumbled and fell. The last thing he saw was Moriarty's face smiling at him, before everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Comments are always appreciated!


	23. Chapter 23

  
Mycroft was pacing from one side of the room to the other. Greg was sitting still as he watched Sherlock's unmoving form on the bed.   
  
"What happened?" He asked softly.  
  
"What do you think." Growled Mycroft.   
  
Lestrade shot him an ice cold glance. "Don't lash out on me, Mycroft" his tone was carefully controlled.   
  
Mycroft gave him an apologetic look, as he reeled his emotions back in. "I'm sorry, Gregory. It's just-"   
  
At Mycroft's broken look, Lestrade got up and walked towards him. He cradled Mycroft's face in his hands and kissed his forehead. "It's alright, love. I know." He kissed Mycroft's closed lids, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips. It was a slow, comforting kiss.   
  
It was Greg's way of letting him know that it would be ok. Mycroft, knowing that he could let go of his carefully constructed control when he was with Greg, rested his forehead against his lover's.   
  
"I think... You should probably call him... Victor. I mean... Well"   
  
"Yes, I should." Mycroft pulled away "I just hope he is up for it. After all, Sherlock technically left him when John came to his senses."   
  
"But they weren't actually together, were they?"   
  
Mycroft stayed silent  
\------------------------------------------------  
  
Victor arrived at Mycorft's home two hours later. He looked tired, and quite worried. Mycroft had explained the situation on the phone, and of course he had immediately decided to come.  
  
In truth, Victor was furious; furious at John for not knowing his wife was pregnant; furious at Mary for destroying the one relationship Sherlock truly cherished; furious at Sherlock for being foolish enough to accept John back into his life so easily; furious at himself for running back to Sherlock's side the minute he, or in this case his brother, called.   
  
This whole situation was messed up, and, honestly, it made no sense. There was something going on, but he did not have the energy or the brainpower, at the moment, to dwell on it. Right now he was more worried about Sherlock's frail state of mind than anything else.  
  
"How is he? Where is he?" Said Victor as greeting   
  
"He's in his room. He still hasn't woken up." Mycroft's voice was hollow. Lestrade moved closer, and grasped Mycroft's hand.   
  
"You must be Lestrade." Victor smiled. "Sherlock told me about you."   
  
"Did he?" Lestrade extended his hand. "Well, I've heard about you too, though not through Sherlock."   
  
Victor looked at him with curious eyes. So this was the man that had been able to lure the great Mycroft Holmes. He seemed to be a rather nice, emotionally responsive, man; quite the opposite of Mycroft.   
  
Sherlock had told him many stories about Mycroft. Victor, knowing Sherlock's tendency to exaggerate when it came to his brother, had drawn his own conclusions from said stories. But, what he hadn't assumed was that Mycroft too could fall desperately in love.   
  
"Nothing bad, I hope"   
  
"No, of course not. You are considered to be an angle around here" Greg said kindly.   
  
Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Come with me. I'll take you to Sherlock's room"   
\---------------------------------  
  
Victor closed the door behind him. Mycroft had quickly left to give Victor some alone time with the detective.   
  
He felt a pang of pain at the sight. Sherlock laid, unconscious, on the bed. His face had an air of sorrow and nostalgia that left Victor reeling. Coming to London had been a _very_ bad idea.   
  
Victor sat on the bed, and waited for Sherlock to wake up. It took almost an hour for the detective to show signs of life.   
  
Sherlock felt... Heavy, as if he was being held underwater with chains. Everything was foggy. His ideas were jumbled and disconnected. He could hear a song, in the back of his head. It was too low for him to make out the words. Nevertheless, he tried. Suddenly, the song turned loud.   
  
 _Ah, ah, ah, ah Staying alive, staying alive, Ah, ah, ah, ah, staying alive...._  
  
"NO!" Screamed Sherlock as he snapped back into consciousness.  
  
"Shh, it's alright" said a familiar voice. Sherlock immediately began looking for the owner of that voice. He found him sitting on the edge of the bed.  
  
"Victor" the man didn't reply "what... You are here... Why?"   
  
"Not very eloquent today, are we?" Victor gave him a small smile. "Your brother called me."   
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course he did."   
  
"If you don't want me here, I can leave." Victor got up.   
  
"No! I didn't mean... I just-"   
  
"Shhh" Victor sat back down "it's alright. I know what you mean."  
  
"Thank you... For being here." Whispered Sherlock. He knew exactly why Mycroft had called Victor. The man was his personal healing kit. He understood Sherlock's emotions in a way even Sherlock didn't understand.   
  
Victor kneeled on the floor, in front of Sherlock. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, and brought him in close. Sherlock hadn't realized how much he needed that until he felt something inside him snap, and he began crying. His sobs wracked their bodies, but Victor didn't let go. Sherlock buried his head in the crook of Victor's neck, as he clutched his shirt. Victor began caressing Sherlock's curls, but remained quiet. He didn't know how long they stayed there, kneeling on the floor.  
  
"It will be fine" he whispered.  
  
Sherlock laughed humorlessly. "Oh really? I feel like my mind is wasting away. I've never felt such a need for someone. I didn't do feelings for a reason."   
  
"Stop it." Victor said firmly "I get that you are new at the whole feelings thing, but you can't let it destroy your life. You need to move on and forget about it."   
  
Forget about it... As if it were that easy. Sherlock had lived with John for many years, and he had come to depend on him. John had been terribly good to him. He had been patient, kind, and loving. And for a blissful night, he had had everything he ever wanted. He had had John, and this is what truly killed Sherlock. It was cruel of fate to let him taste the riches of the fruit, only to promptly take it all away.   
  
Victor was right. He had to forget, because he was only hurting himself. But how? John's touch seemed to have engraved itself with permanent ink on Sherlock's brain. He could feel every touch, every caress, every thrust. He could here every groan, every needy moan, every I love you.  
  
He needed to wash the memories away. He needed his brain to go offline. He suddenly looked up, as a desperate idea formed in his mind. He reached out and grabbed Victor, as he pressed their lips together.   
  
Victor froze on the spot, unsure of what was happening. Sherlock had _never_ kissed him. Granted, the parameters set for their relationship were rather blurry, but there were lines that weren't meant to be crossed; _this_ was one of them. A kiss changed the playing field, and Victor was fairly sure Sherlock didn't want that.   
  
"Stop, Sherlock what are you doing?" Victor pulled away   
  
"I'm fairly sure I was kissing you." Victor could feel Sherlock's defenses going up.   
  
"Yes, I know, but why?"  
  
"Didn't you like it?"  
  
"You are avoiding the question."  
  
"As are you" Sherlock's eyes had a fierce determination that sent a shiver through Victor's back. "You don't want to admit that you _want_ me."  
  
"Sherlock-" he was cut off by a pair of plush lips that, once again, were pressed against his. He began to pull away, but Sherlock pushed him down. He gasped, as his back hit the ground, and Sherlock used the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Sherlock's hands snaked their way down to Victor's trousers, and he began to palm him lightly. Victor's careful control cracked, and he kissed Sherlock back as a needy moan escaped his lips.   
  
Victor began ravishing Sherlock's mouth, and Sherlock could do nothing but moan. Victor suddenly flipped them around, and straddled Sherlock's legs. He then turned his full attention to Sherlock's pale neck. Sherlock began panting slightly, as he felt Victor suck, and lick, a sensitive spot on his neck. Suddenly, Victor came back to his senses, and quickly pulled away.   
  
Sherlock growled in frustration "why did you stop?"   
  
"We are not doing this, Sherlock."   
  
"You know you want me. Why deny yourself, when I want it too?"   
  
"Because you don't want me for me. You want me because you want to forget John. Yes, I want you, but not like this. I want you... Because I love you." Sherlock's eyes widened. " I know that, deep down, you love me too, or at least I like to think that." Victor smiled softly. "Sleeping together will change everything Sherlock. I will _not_ be the person you go to when you want rebound sex. If I sleep with you, it is because I'm in a relationship, or starting a relationship, with you."   
  
"But I need it. I need to erase John. I need you to help me forget... _Please_ " Sherlock whispered, as he traced Victor's lips with his thumb.   
  
"Do you care about me at all, Sherlock?" Victor's carefully controlled rage began to crack. "Do you realize that this will hurt me?"   
  
Sherlock froze. In truth, he hadn't even though about that. He had been so focused in escaping his own pain that he hadn't stopped to think how this might affect Victor. He needed Victor, but he couldn't do this to him, at least not without giving something back.   
  
"I'm sorry." Sherlock rested his head on Victor's shoulder "I just..."  
  
"It's fine." Victor patted Sherlock's head affectionately. "Look, Sherlock, I don't think-"   
  
"What if we date?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"Well, we are basically together anyway. I mean, we live together, we sleep in the same bed, we do almost everything together, we laugh together, we eat together, we comfort each other... Isn't that what a relationship is supposed to be? I might not be able to fully... love you yet, in that sense of the word, but if you give me time..." Sherlock close his eyes. "I know I am not offering you what you need, and I'm sorry. All I can tell you is that I do love you, in my own.... Fucked up way, and I need you."   
  
"You do realize that this is the most fucked up relationship you could possibly be in?"   
  
"Not true. This is the one relationship that is actually good for me."   
  
Victor was quiet for a few seconds. Perhaps it was because it was late,perhaps it was because he was tired of fighting this, or perhaps it was because he had drunk a tad more than what he was supposed to before coming here, but all his mind could provide was _fuck this_ as he captured Sherlock's lips with his own.   
  
Yes, this was one fucked up relationship. Yes, this wasn't necessarily healthy for either one of them. Yes, this had the potential to hurt him, a lot. But John was out of the picture, so what was the worst thing that could happen? Victor no longer gave a damn about the consequences; they were both past the point of no return.   
  
Victor picked Sherlock up, and moved them both to the bed. He undid Sherlock's shirt with ease, and soon moved down to undo Sherlock's trousers. Sherlock took much longer to undo Victor's shirt, because of his trembling fingers. However, the more Victor kissed him, the more his confidence build. He, once again, pushed Victor down, and promptly got rid of the man's trousers and pants. He swirled his tongue around Victor's mouth, as he took the man's hard shaft in his hand. Sherlock shuddered, as Victor groaned in pleasure. He set up a teasingly slow pace, that had Victor cursing silently.   
  
Victor smiled smugly, as he felt Sherlock's hard cock prod his hip. He decided it was time to give Sherlock a taste of his own medicine. "So you like teasing me, huh?" Victor whispered in Sherlock's ear. He easily flipped them around, and licked his way down to Sherlock's cock. "Well, two can play that game, baby." He licked the tip of Sherlock's cock, and smiled as he heard Sherlock's strangled moan. He looked directly into Sherlock's eyes, as he took him fully into his mouth. Sherlock cried out, as his head hit the pillows. He couldn't look at what Victor was doing to him, not unless he wanted to come right then.   
  
Victor expertly swirled his tongue around Sherlock's shaft, as he bobbed his head up and down. He experimentally sucked Sherlock's cock as he played with the man's balls, and was pleased to see Sherlock  violently writhe with pleasure.   
  
"V-Victor... I'm going to-" Victor suddenly pulled away, making Sherlock growl in frustration.   
  
Victor smiled mischievously "I told you, two can play that game." He kissed Sherlock, before the man had a chance to protest.   
  
"I want you to take me." Whispered Sherlock  
  
"I don't have any lube, Sherlock."   
  
"There should be a small bottle in my jacket."   
  
Victor quickly got up, and retrieved the bottle. He then took his own jacket, and took out a condom. "How the hell do you have lube in your...you know what? I don't want to know."   
  
Victor opened the bottle, and looked at Sherlock." Are you sure about this?"  
  
Sherlock laid down, and silently spread his legs. Victor warmed the lube with his fingers. He kissed Sherlock deeply, as he carefully pressed a finger inside Sherlock. Sherlock grunted, as Victor added another finger, and cried out as the man found his prostate. Sherlock was writhing by the time Victor added a third finger.  
  
"Please, I'm ready."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Fuck me, Victor, please."   
  
Victor quickly rolled on the condom, and coated himself with lube. He aligned himself with Sherlock's hole, and thrusted in slowly. He remained still until Sherlock grunted for him to move. Victor couldn't stop his moans, as he slowly rolled his hips.  
  
"Fuck... You are so tight."   
  
"Faster... Please" Victor could do nothing but comply. He had started out slowly, because of his fear of hurting Sherlock, but his control was quickly breaking. He began thrusting in earnest, as Sherlock writhed beneath him. He was sure Sherlock was going to be hoarse in the morning, if he continued screaming like that. This only served to fuel Victor's arousal further, and he began pounding into Sherlock like a wild animal.   
  
Sherlock felt as if everything was on fire. His nerve endings were working overtime. He couldn't form a single coherent thought. The only thing he could think about was how full he felt, and how good Victor felt inside him. The only thing he could hear were Victor's possessive grunts, and the flap of skin. He clutched Victor's shoulders, as if trying to hold on. He could feel his orgasm coming quickly.   
  
"Victor, ah!... Victor...please..." Sherlock slurred.  
  
Victor took Sherlock in his hand. Indeed Sherlock had been close, as he came with a shout after two strokes. Victor cried out, as he felt Sherlock's walls closing around him, milking him. He thrusted as deeply as he could, and came with Sherlock's name on his lips. They were both panting hard, as they came down from the high.   
  
"So... What now?" Panted Victor  
  
"I don't know. You tell me."  
  
Victor kissed him softly "I think it's time we go back to New York." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry for not updating in a while. I have been immensely busy. This chapter was rather hard for me, given that it included a smut scene. It is the first time I write smut, so be gentle with me.
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated!
> 
> P.S; We are quickly approaching the end of this fic. I hope you guys are enjoying it


	24. Chapter 24

Mary was sitting with her back against the wall. The water from the shower ran freely down her face. She wasn't ready to face John, not when the guilt was still fresh in her system. She had taken desperate measures to get John back, and, if she was being quite honest, she had gotten lucky.   
  
She thought she should be happy. She had her husband back after all, but the guilt... that damned guilt that wouldn't leave her alone. She couldn't shake away the image of Sherlock's face. He had put on quite the façade, but she had seen right through it. She felt bad knowing that she had been the one to make him suffer like that. And then there was John; he had looked like a broken, lost, and wary child. She saw something die in his eyes at that moment.  
  
But John was her husband. It wasn't her fault that Sherlock had fallen so hard for John. He would get over it eventually. He had to, and John would be happy with _her_.   
\----------------------------------  
  
John laid on the bed. He could hear the water running. He felt...empty, as if his heart had been ripped out of his body, as if his soul had left him, as if his mind was drowning. Technically, he could say that his heart had been ripped out. Sherlock wasn't here with him anymore. Why was he here again?  
Oh, right, baby.   
  
He felt trapped and restless. He needed a walk, needed air, needed space... Damn it all, he _needed_ Sherlock. He bolted out of bed, even though his leg was aching.  
  
"John where are you going?" Said Mary from the bathroom door.

John closed his eyes and cursed silently. "I need a walk"   
  
"You have to stop doing that, John"  
  
"Doing what?"  
  
"You have to stop running away from me! I am your _wife_. How do you think it makes me feel? I know you like Sherlock, but _I_ am your wife. _We_ have a _family_. I can't bring a baby into the world knowing that his or her father doesn't want to be here with us."  
  
"Don't do that" said John in a steel cold voice. "Don't try to use the baby to make me feel bad. I am here, so you _don't_ get to tell me that."   
  
Mary sighed and sat down on the bed. "All I'm saying is that... you have to let him go. We're a family John. Please...don't you want things to go back to the way they used to be? We were happy, John. When he was... gone, we were happy. Why can't we be happy again?"  
  
 _We were never happy, b_ _ecause you are not him!_ His mind screamed, but he remained silent. Mary deserved better. She was right; his baby deserved a home. He had to try to get over Sherlock. He had to try... Oh god, _Sherlock_.  
  
He had left distraught. He was probably hurting. He needed to find him. He quickly snatched his phone out of his pocket, as he walked out of the room. He called Mycroft, knowing that Sherlock would not answer his phone.  
  
"Mycroft, is he with you? Is he ok?"   
  
"He is no longer your concern, doctor. You have a wife, and a child now, to care for." He stopped, obviously trying to control himself "I understand that this is not your fault, but you still have to deal with the consequences. I know you love him, but it is time to stop trying to be with him.It's time to face reality. He needs time... To heal."  
  
John felt his knees tremble "I never meant for him to get hurt. I just wanted him to be happy. I wanted to make him happyPlease... Just tell me he will be alright."   
  
"I'm sure Victor will find a way to lift him up. Good day, Dr. Watson."  
  
Victor... Fucking Victor. Of course Victor was there with Sherlock. He would do anything to take Sherlock from him, but he had no right.  
  
 _But you left him. He deserves better. Victor is good for him._  
  
Oh god... Why was this happening to him? Why was it that every time he was remotely happy, something horrible had to happen. It was as if fate had an unspeakable grudge against him.  
  
"John..."   
  
"Look Mary, can we just... Can you just... Give me some space?"  
  
"I know that you're hurting, but everything will be fine." She took his face in her hands. "How about we stop thinking about it?" She tried to kiss him, but he pulled away forcibly.   
  
"Not in the mood, sorry."   
  
Mary's expression darkened. "There was a time when you found me attractive."  
  
"This honestly has nothing to do with whether or not I find you attractive. Please, just-"  
  
"Don't you love me at all?" She screamed  
  
John clenched his hand, and walked away. He silently opened the door and left the flat. He didn't have the strength to deal with this right now.   
\--------------------------

Sherlock flung himself down on the sofa, as Victor put down the bags. He rubbed his temple, as he closed his eyes.    
  
"Do you want something to eat?" Victor said softly   
  
"No, thank you."   
  
Victor came closer, and caressed Sherlock's face. "You okay?"  
  
Sherlock looked at him, but said nothing. They both knew the answer; no, he was not okay, not yet.   
  
Victor sat next to him, as he gathered Sherlock in his arms. "You know, we should go out. There's this really cool place called Jekyll and Hyde. Their show is great, and the food is not bad. There are lots of fake skulls and stuff. I think you'll like it, and if not the we can spend the evening criticising the place."   
  
"No."  
  
"You haven't even given it a try."   
  
"I'm not in the mood."  
  
"Well, you'll never be in the mood if you don't try to get past this."   
  
Sherlock scowled "Do you think I like feeling this way?"  
  
"No, but you are not trying to move on either. I cannot help you, if you don't want to help yourself. I love you, and I'm here for you, but you have to let me try Sherlock. _You_ have to try. It's a two way street."   
  
  
Sherlock buried his face on Victor's shirt. "What if I can never move on?"   
  
"Alright, that's it drama queen, we are definitely going out." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry for taking so long, I've been so busy.  
> As you may have noticed, we only have one chapter left; the epilogue. This has been one wild ride. I hope you have enjoyed it. I will try to upload the last chapter by Wednesday (hopefully it will be up before that.)
> 
> Likes, and comments are always appreciated!


	25. Chapter 25

_4 years later_

 

  
  
"You have to eat love, it is not optional."  
  
Sherlock pouted. "But I ate a large breakfast already."  
  
Victor rolled his eyes, as Sherlock picked on his food. "That was this morning. Besides, you promised me that you would eat three meals a day this week."  
  
"Did I?" Sherlock said in a flirtatious tone. He picked up his cup of wine, and took a small sip. He licked his lips conspicuously, as he gave Victor a small smile. "Hmm, I don't recall that."  
  
"We'll have to refresh your memory then." Victor gave him a sly smile. "But since I'm in a good mood today, I am willing to make a deal."  
  
"What kind of deal?"  
  
"Eat, and we can do whatever you want tonight."  
  
Sherlock's eyes gleamed. There was an experiment he had been wanting to try for quite a while. "Deal."  
  
A slow song started playing, and Sherlock looked up at Angelo with a grateful smile. Victor, too, looked up in surprised, as a small smile graced his lips. The older man winked at them, as he left the room.  
  
"Do you remember this song, Victor?"  
  
"Baby, I could never forget it."  
  
Sherlock got up, and offered his hand. "Will you dance with me?"  
  
"You don't even have to ask."  
  
Thankfully, Victor had turned out to be a great dancer. Sherlock loved dancing with him, as the man was able to follow him, and didn't seem to tire until Sherlock had danced to his heart's content. Their motions were fluid, and rhythmic. Victor could match Sherlock's pace, thus Sherlock's lead was almost unnoticeable. Sherlock placed his hand on Victor's hip, as he brought him closer. Victor rubbed Sherlock's neck, as they sensuously swayed. They had all but forgotten the people eating around them.  
  
The chatting ceased, as people turned to see the couple dance. Some couples got up, inspired by the two men, and began dancing too.  
  
Sherlock lost track of time, as he generally did when he was with Victor. Time ceased to matter, as he concentrated on the lovely man that was in his arms. He still, at times, felt surprised when Victor looked at him. It was hard to understand why Victor looked at him like he was the prize, and not the other way around.  
  
Even after four years, Victor still looked at him like that. Indeed, he could not recall a time in which Victor hadn't looked at him with love. Well, except when they fought. But even fighting wasn't so bad; make-up sex was always worth it.  
  
Sherlock had been surprised to discover that he could have one quite active libido. Fortunately, so did Victor, thus nights were always something to look forward to. Oh, the things he would have him do tonight... Yes, definitely something to look forward to.  
  
He had to think about something else, or he would have to endure a stubborn hard-on that wouldn't go away so easily.  
  
"You have a dirty little mind, Mr. Holmes." Purred Victor, as he squeezed his arse.  
  
Sherlock gasped, as he tried to control his reaction. "How the hell did you know?"  
  
"Love, I've been living with that brilliant, filthy, mind of yours for four years." He patted Sherlock's arse softly. "Did you talk to your parents?"  
  
"Yes. They were thrilled to know we are in London, and, of course, they demaded to see us."    
  
Victor chuckled. "They are lovely. I don't know why you don't like seeing them often."  
  
"Well, you do make it more bearable. Perhaps we can get Mycroft and Lestrade to come. That way we'd be killing to birds with one stone."  
  
"If people would hear you, they'd think you hate your family."  
  
Sherlock scoffed "Oh, please. They all visit a minimum of three times a year. You are always talking to Mycroft. Besides, we are not here for family; we are here for us."  
  
"Hmmm, then perhaps we should see them go see them now, so we can get started on the "us" part quicker." Victor said as he traced Sherlock's jaw.  
  
"We have to go visit Mrs. Hudson first. She'll kill us if she finds out we were here, and we didn't visit."  
  
"We first have to finish eating, and then we can go."  
\-----------------------------------------  
  
When Mrs. Hudson went to open the door, the last person she had expected to find was Sherlock Holmes.  
  
"Sherlock!" She yelped as she hugged him tightly. "It's been too long dear!"  
  
"Hello Mrs. Hudson." The woman released him, as she went to hug Victor.  
  
"Victor! Oh, look at you. You look so handsome."  
  
Victor chuckled. "Oh, Mrs. Hudson. You only say that to make me feel good."  
  
"Well, no. She is quite right. That shirt suits you. You look very sexy."  
  
Victor blushed, as he quickly kissed Sherlock. "Someone is trying to turn me on." He whispered in Sherlock's ear. It was Sherlock's turn to blush.  
  
"Mrs. Hudson, is everything alright? Who is th-" the voice stopped abruptly, as it came closer.  
  
Sherlock knew that voice.  
  
He turned around, and froze. "John." Sherlock's eyes were wide. "What... Why are you here?"  
  
"Sherlock?" John seemed to be as stunned as Sherlock. "Well, I live here. Why are you here? Why is he here?"  
  
Victor tensed, this was just going to be really uncomfortable.  
  
"Well, uh... We're here for our anniversary."  
  
"Anniversary?"  
  
"Wedding anniversary." Said Victor uncomfortably.  
  
John looked down at Sherlock's hand, and there it was the damnable, and irrefutable, evidence; a shiny silver ring that matched Victor's.  
\-------------------------------------  
  
This most definitely was not the way Victor had expected their vacation to start. But here they were, in 221B's living room, sitting in a slightly uncomfortable silence. Victor looked around; the flat was neat, but the air was... Nostalgic.  
  
He sat next to Sherlock, on the couch, while John sat on his red armchair. If Victor was being quite honest, he was grateful for the distance.  
  
"So when did you two... Um... Get married?"  
  
"Two years ago." Victor said, still unsure if Sherlock wanted to be an active participant in this conversation.  
  
"Is Mary here?" Sherlock said suddenly, with tight lips.  
  
"No we are not... We got a divorce."  
  
Sherlock looked surprised. "And your child?"  
  
John clenched his jaw as he looked away. "He wasn't mine."  
  
Victor's eyes widened, and Sherlock shifted in his seat, trying to comprehend John's words. Mary had lied to them. Victor could sense Sherlock's rising anger, and placed a hand on his thigh for support. Sherlock grasped his hand and looked at him; Victor softly nodded.  
  
"I'm going to go catch up with Mrs. Hudson."  
  
Sherlock waited until his husband was out of the flat to speak. "Was it David's?" John clenched his hands. "I'm sorry."  
  
John sighed. "No, it's fine... It's not your fault."  
  
They remained quiet for a few seconds, neither sure of what to say. It had been four years. The time for could haves and would haves was long gone.  
  
"Why did She... Did she do it solely to... Separate us?"  
  
John got up and walked towards the window, his hand behind his back. "She wasn't willing to let me go."  
  
Sherlock felt vile rise, as he rubbed his face. He hadn't fate this much hate towards someone in a very long time. "Why would she-"  
  
"I don't know." John turned to face Sherlock. "The worst part is that I found out through David." John chuckled humorlessly. "How ridiculous is it that her ex is the one that has to tell me my own wife cheated on me."  
  
Sherlock felt nauseated, confused, and miserable. Mary had toyed with their lives. Mary had destroyed their lives. He had lost John because of her. "What... What do you think would have happened with us if she didn't do that?"  
  
"We would have been happy." John whispered. "You would have stayed in London, solving cases. I would have continued helping you. We would have lived here. We would have fought because of your eccentricities. We would have had make up sex. We would have laughed, and kissed, and made love. We would have gotten married." John choked, and he tried to catch his breath. He could feel his eyes sting.  
  
Sherlock opened his mouth but no sound came out.  
  
"But that's not possible anymore... You are married" John sat back down, looking defeated. He rubbed his knees lightly.  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
John pinched the bridge of his now, as he slowly breathed in. "Are you happy?"  
  
Sherlock's gaze turned melancholic. "Yes, I am."  
  
John nodded stiffly. "Right."  
  
"You are right John." Sherlock said desperately. "We would have been happy. I loved you more than anything. I still do, you know, but-"  
  
"I understand. You don't have to... Explain. I just need you to answer me this, honestly. Does he make you happy?"  
  
Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat. Even after everything that had happened, John still cared about his happiness. "Yes, he... I don't know how to explain it. He is my support, and he just... Compliments me perfectly."  
  
 _Like you used to_ Sherlock thought, and, somehow, he knew John knew.  
  
"I'm glad. You do look happy." He smiled softly. "You look healthy."  
  
They both fell silent, neither sure of what to say anymore. They were sitting in the same room, yet they worlds apart. It wasn't supposed to end like this.  
  
"Um... You should probably-"  
  
"Yes, indeed." Sherlock stood up. He looked at John, and suddenly brought him close and embraced him. "Thank you John, for putting up with me for so long. I'm sorry for all the hurt that I cause you. I'm sorry that we couldn't... You should know that a part of me will always be yours."  
  
John squeezed him tight, before letting go. He was not sure he could speak without crying.  
  
"Goodbye, John."  
  
John caressed Sherlock's curls, and kissed his cheek. He lingered for a second, taking it all in, one last time. "Goodbye, Sherlock."  
\------------------------------------------------  
  
Victor was helping Mrs. Hudson bake, when Sherlock came down. He didn't say anything as Sherlock moved closer. It was a conversation they needed to have in private.  
  
"Mrs. Hudson, as lovely as it was to see you again, we have to leave. I do hope we get to see you once more before we leave." Sherlock said politely, and Mrs. Hudson understood immediately.  
  
  
  
Once they left Baker Street, Victor picked up the pace, still not acknowledging Sherlock. He walked for a few blocks, before finally stopping, and turning around to face his husband.  
  
"Are you alright?" He whispered, as he caressed Sherlock's face.  
  
Sherlock momentarily allowed himself to get lost in his husband's eyes. "I'll be fine."  
  
"Is John alright?"  
  
Sherlock clenched his jaw, and refused to respond. Victor's eyes turned sad, as he nodded.  
  
Victor gave him a small peck, as he grabbed his hand. "C'mon, I talked to your brother. We are going to go see them now."  
  
"What?"  
  
"We are having dinner with him and Greg. We are going to have fun. I'll maybe even let you to make fun of him."  
  
Sherlock let himself be dragged into a cab. If he was honest with himself, he was glad he was going to see his brother tonight. As much as they pretended to hate each other, they truly did cherish each other, especially after those two cold years. Sherlock knew Mycroft would be able to offer some silent comfort and solace.  
  
Victor placed his hand on the inside of Sherlock's left thigh. "It will be alright. We will be alright."  
  
Sherlock placed his hand on top of his husband's. Yes, they'd be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it guys!  
> I want to thank those of you that have been here from the beginning. thank you for sticking with me! I hope you enjoyed it.   
> This fic was slightly hard for me, given that I am a hardcore Johnlock shipper, and so I felt as if I was betraying my ship (which I guess I was) but I really wanted to do this.   
> however, to remain true to my Johnlock heart, I am at the moment writing a Johnlock AU, which I will start publishing very soon. 
> 
> comments and likes are always appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!  
> So this is a new fic I'm working on. The sign of three left me with all the feels and I hadn't had time to post this. In this fic Sherlock has PTSD (because I honestly believe he had a Mild PTSD during season 3). The PTSD here won't be so mild.  
> I hope you enjoy it!


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